time passes, in love and in seasons
by echoes-of-realities
Summary: A four part series. Brittana, from the end of junior year and throughout thei senior year, told through the seasons, through the sleepy summer, the horrifying autumn, the sparkling winter, and the fresh start of spring.
1. you were the choice I made

**Notes: Cross-posted to ao3 and Tumblr. I'm going to be cross-posting all my stories from ao3 and Tumblr to here now on the advice of another trusted writer and friend, so there will be a whole bunch of them all at once and then it will go back to a relatively normal flow between schoolwork.**

 **I Know I'm like three years late to this lmao, though I did actually watch Glee way back when it first came out but I never really got into it and stopped watching after the first season. I really should have hung on to get to the Brittana lol whoops. I'm just really interested in Brittana fluff and the summer between Junior and Senior year. And also that Brittana part in "Paradise by the Dashboard Light."**

 **This series will mostly follow canon except for possibly some things in the later half of season 3, especially, like, everything from 3x22 (i.e., Brittany graduates with everyone, Santana's coming out to her parents story is slightly changed, etc.) because, uh, well because I can since this is fanfic.**

 **Chapter title and excerpts from "Apology" by Shane Koyczan.**

* * *

 _Chapter 1: you were the choice I made before I knew what the other choices were_

* * *

 _"We've managed to muddle through the awkward stage of 'I like you and do you like me,' but when we both said 'Yes'_

 _Life became a multiple choice test_

 _Not knowing anything we became each other's best guess_

 _And holding you hand is less like exploration and more like discovery_

 _Lady, I don't have to study you to be sure_

 _You're the choice I made before I knew what the other choices were."_

* * *

Summer is the sunshine dusted over cheeks in shades of pink and a golden spattering of freckles, and it's the feeling of fingers sticky with ice cream and the scent evening sun that clings to clothes and hair like midnight. It's the catch of a sunbeam shining through a blonde braid, and it's stars caught in the vast darkness of eyes that can see straight through a soul. It's kisses that taste like chlorine and strawberries and carefree youth, and it's fingertips that dance across skin as gentle as butterfly wings and trace the pound of a heartbeat through muscle and bone until fingerprints are left against the fragile centre of love.

Summer is the time when they don't have to see anyone from school, and they don't have to be anyone but them because no judging eyes can see through Santana's bedroom door or past the tall fence around Brittany's backyard. Summer is the time when they can just be them. Summer is the time for a new beginning to unfurl inside their chests like a flower searching for the sunlight in the other's heartbeat.

It's at the start of the summer that Brittany offers Santana her hand without fear.

* * *

When Santana feels Brittany's fingers brush hers under the blanket she almost has a goddamn heart attack. Lithe fingers trace softly against the outside edge of her hand, bypassing her pinky to run fingerprints across the back of it.

"Britt," Santana hisses, eyes urgently darting around the plane, never settling on one person for too long before glancing to the next.

Brittany doesn't say anything, instead she twists her wrist, turning her hand palm up, thumb brushing across the length of Santana's hand. She just waits there patiently, eyes steady and clear and sure, hand hovering against the side of Santana's thigh and thumb comfortably pressed to Santana's hand.

Santana swallows her protests and tries to ignore the fear bubbling in her stomach and choking her. She gives Brittany a pleading, desperate look. It's not that she doesn't want to hold Brittany's hand, it's just, well—

"Britt?" she croaks.

Brittany just keeps waiting, smiling gently at Santana as if she knows something that Santana doesn't, patient and confident in her best friend. Santana's eyes dart around the plane again and her heart pounds loudly until it almost feels like it might just escape, but the sheer force of absolute _yearning_ pounding through her to hold Brittany's hands is dwarfed by the terror clinging and sticking persistently to the inside of her stomach.

"Britt," Santana whispers helplessly, and then her eyes meet bright, sure, blue and Santana deflates. She sighs and, with trembling fingers, she slowly twists her hand to press her palm to Brittany's, fingers twining comfortably as if their palms were sculpted from each other. Brittany's eyes never leave hers, patient and proud, as she briefly tightens her fingers against Santana's, smile soft and awed.

Santana gulps a breath and smiles back weakly as they turn back to the movie they had been watching before Brittany's twitching fingers sent her into a spiral. Santana remains tense against Brittany's side, her fingers flexing as if trying to escape every time a flight attendant or passenger stumbles sleepily down the aisle, before they still against Brittany's again. After long, tense moments, and a scene and a half passes, Brittany turns her head towards Santana and leans closer to her.

"You okay?" she mumbles lowly, the scent of coffee and mint gum flooding Santana's nose as it flutters against her face. Santana releases a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding; Brittany always did know what she needed before she ever realized she it was.

Santana adjusts the blanket covering their lap, tenting it better over where their hands rest between their seats but not releasing Brittany's warm hand from her grasp. "Yeah," Santana mumbles back, equally lowly, her voice cracking over the single syllable and splitting it into two trembling sounds. Brittany briefly squeezes her fingers where they're slotted against Santana's and smiles at her and Santana's entire being calms, the fear settling back down to the low boil she's used to. "Yeah," she repeats, smiling back at Brittany, "I'm good."

Brittany beams at her and turns back to the movie playing on the seat front of them. Santana only half pays attention to it, more focused on the way Brittany's hand feels in hers outside of one of their bedrooms, and how their shared pair of earphones means that they have to lean their heads closer together—Santana's cheek pressed to Brittany's shoulder—so they don't pull the buds out of their ears, and how nobody gives the two girls sharing more space than perhaps strictly necessary a second glance, and how when Brittany breathes out Santana breathes in their shoulders brush and their forearms press closer underneath the blanket, and how Santana's head is buzzing with _BrittanyBrittanyBrittany—_

Brittany sighs against her and, after a quick glance around the dimly lit the plane, presses a soft kiss to Santana's temple. Santana's face erupts in flame and she groans lowly, burying her face deeper into Brittany's shoulder and wondering when such simple acts of affection from Brittany will stop sending her heart into palpitations. Brittany giggles into her hair and Santana wills her face to stop flushing so deeply, and wills her stomach from bubbling up in fear again. Brittany glances around once more and then presses another soft kiss to her hair, twisting their fingers together under the blanket and breathing in the herbal scent of the hotel shampoo clinging to Santana's hair, so different from the sharp scent of the shampoo Santana's been using since the sixth grade, like citrus and vanilla and pinewood and that one flower that sounds like _penny_.

Santana shudders against her, and for a split second Brittany wonders if she scared Santana again and sent her into one of her panics, but then she feels more than sees Santana take a deep breath and nuzzle further into Brittany's shoulder, pressing a smile there and sleepily humming like she does when she's about to take an afternoon nap after a lazy morning of doing homework with Brittany on one of their usual weekend sleepovers. Brittany grins, because they took off at eight in the morning and have only been in the air for about half an hour, and Santana's never been much of a morning person.

"Tired?" Brittany whispers.

"Mmm," Santana hums.

Brittany giggles and cranes her neck to see over the seat in front of her. Mercedes and Sam and Quinn are sitting two rows ahead of them—Mr. Schue had only managed to book tickets for the same flight if the glee club kids were spread out over the plane, and so most of them are on the right side of the plane, clustered together at the front, while five students had to sit near the back on the left side. Santana and Brittany had immediately and simultaneously claimed the lone two seats, volunteering to sit with a stranger in exchange for the relative privacy from the rest of the club the seats offered.

Quinn is sleeping, presumably, her head leaned against the window and her body still, her freshly cut hair brushing the peak of her right shoulder as her head gently rocks with the movement of the plane. Mercedes and Sam are talking quietly, careful not to disturb Quinn, heads bent towards each other and occasionally hushing soft laughter. Brittany glances over to the other side of the plane where the rest of the glee club members are sitting in stony and uncomfortable silence; the closest member, Kurt, is sitting stiffly in the aisle seat six rows in front of her and Santana, far enough away that Brittany can barely see him, so she presses one more kiss to Santana's hair before settling back down. The man beside her snores and snuffs in his sleep before resettling.

A peel of Mercedes' laughter causes Brittany to crane her neck up again to catch sight of her, partially dislodging Santana from her side, who grumbles more about lacking Brittany's shoulder as a pillow than being awoken as she was drifting to sleep. Sam is already hushing Mercedes and casting a wary but still amused glance at Quinn, who hadn't moved a muscle.

The toddler in in the seat directly in front of Brittany, right between Brittany and Mercedes, catches sight of her over his mother's shoulder, and shrieks with bright, guileless laughter as Brittany starts pulling faces at him through the small crack between the seats. She feels Santana's breathe catch and glances down at her, but her face is unreadable. Brittany worries for a second, but Santana looks up at her with sleepy, wide eyes and, though there's a hint of fear there, she doesn't move away from Brittany, and she doesn't untangle their hands. Brittany studies her face and tries to figure out what Santana's thinking, which is usually, like, Brittany's ultimate superpower but it seems to be failing her right now. She's not unreadable and stony and pained in the way she had been for the last couple months, instead she's unreadable in some strange, faraway, almost hopeful way.

All at once, with the soft humming of chatter around them and the occasional snores of the man beside her and the childish giggles of the toddler in front of them, Brittany realizes what Santana's thinking, and Brittany's face softens as a smile spreads, hopeful and bright and so full of adoration for Santana that she feels like her face can barely contain it, thinking about that same strange, faraway, almost hopeful place where Santana's thoughts are blooming.

Santana ducks her head for a moment, fear clouding her face for a split second, before smiling just as brightly and hopefully up at Brittany, under eyelashes that fail to hide the adoration sparkling in dark eyes. Santana settles back against Brittany's shoulder and tightens her fingers around Brittany's hand, and Brittany ignores the movie to breathe in Santana, more focused on the steady pulse she feels in Santana's wrist, and how Santana's cheek feels against her shoulder, and how nobody gives the two girls sharing more space than perhaps strictly necessary a second glance, and how Santana's warmth is seeping into her through her shoulder and arm and palm and fingertips, and how she can feel Santana's breath fan across her collarbone every time she breathes out and Brittany breathes in, and how Brittany's head is buzzing with hope and faraway places and _SantanaSantanaSantana—_

* * *

June is a rush of weekend sleepovers and stressing about exams and easy glee club practices without the pressure of Nationals hanging over them; it's spent avoiding teachers as they scurry around corners and into shadowy alcoves, linked pinkies more often than not turning into slipping handholds as they drag the other into a dark classroom and stifle giggles against hands and shoulders and necks as teachers walk past, mumbling about former cheerleaders thinking they can be at the school after-hours just because they're waiting around for glee club to start.

* * *

When the sound of the doorbell draws Santana out of a deep sleep she grumbles and rolls over, pulling the covers over her head and hopping whoever's at the door before nine on the first lazy Sunday morning of summer break will just go away.

The doorbell continues ringing and Santana groans, throwing her covers off and rolling over to her back to glare up at the ceiling. Eventually she can't block the ringing out and she grumbles as she rolls out of bed, cursing when her feet touch the cool hardwood of the hallways as she forces herself to the front door. "This better be good," she mutters as she nears the entryway, throwing it open with a huff and half a mind to start yelling at whoever has decided to wake her up before nine am on the weekend in summer.

The first thing that happens when she unlocks and pulls the door open is something small and excited launching itself against her lower half, thin arms thrown around her and a face buried in her stomach, dark hair already falling out of twin braids and sneakers nudging against Santana's bare toes.

"Squirt?" she asks, confusion and sleep battling and making it really hard to comprehend anything that's happening as she automatically wraps her arms around the tiny body pressing against her.

"'Tana!" the head of hair squeals into her stomach and tightens her arms around Santana's torso. Santana tries to blink away her haze and glances out the doorway for a explanation of why the youngest Pierce is ringing her doorbell this early in the morning. Her explanation is leaning lazily against the door. It's Brittany, because of course it's Brittany, and Santana's breath catches somewhere between her chest and her nose, blooming in her throat and filling her heart up until it feels too big for her body to contain and the only thing she can do is let out a quiet gasp, letting the too full feeling escape her in a slow exhale. She looks summer beautiful, all golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes and June sun freckles and ripped jean cutoffs and tattered old sneakers. She looks like summer personified, sun-warm and carefree, as if all the best memories of summer break had merged together into one person.

Her beauty makes Santana's chest ache, and she's suddenly too aware of her messy and tangled bedhead and the sleep she can feel caught in the corners of her eyes and that she's only wearing an old pair of sleep shorts patterned with penguins and an old cheer-shirt with _PIERCE_ emblazoned across the shoulders that Brittany had left, thrown and forgotten in the corner of her room, months ago before everything got weird and painful. She's never been this self-conscious of how she looks in Brittany's presence because they've had hundreds upon hundreds of sleepovers since kindergarten and Brittany's definitely seen her in worse states of clothing and less, but there's something about the glow of the sun behind Brittany that makes Santana feel like she's standing before something more than human. Santana swallows thickly when Brittany's face softens, that soft smile spreading across her face, the one that pulls her lips up and out and squishes her cheeks up against her eyes and makes her gaze dart down to her shoes for a brief moment.

"Hi," Santana says, her voice coming out breathless and awed, fighting a blush she knows is already feel rising to her cheeks.

"Hi," Brittany murmurs back, her eyes bright and comforting and adoring as her gaze trails over Santana's figure. Santana tightens her fingers against Brittany's sister and looks down, fighting both a smile and a blush and knowing she fails miserably as she feels Brittany's warm gaze remain steady on her.

"What are you two doing here?" she finally manages to ask and the munchkin peels her face off of Santana's stomach to tip her head back and grin up at Santana, her smile so achingly familiar that Santana just has to take a glance at the real thing to make sure it's still there. It is, and it widens when it catches Santana's wandering gaze. Santana snaps her eyes back down to the munchkin and playfully pokes at the girl's nose.

"'Tana!" she shrieks, batting her hand away and giggling. "We're here to invite you on a picnic!"

"Really?" Santana asks, grinning at the girl. She giggles and nods excitedly, bouncing up and down on her toes. Santana glances at Brittany's soft smile and only then notices the large basket by Brittany's feet, the top covered with an old patchwork jean blanket, a pattern of sunflowers and crows stitched the edges, the one that Brittany's mom had gotten as a baby-shower gift from a coworker the year Brittany was born. "A picnic huh?" Santana teases, looking back at the munchkin with a smirk. The munchkin nods furiously, excited and guileless, her braids slapping against her shoulders.

"That is, if you're not busy or anything," Brittany pipes up, a small frown marring her pretty features. "Oh my God, I totally forgot that you might be busy. It's fine if you are! The munchkin and I can just do it by ourselves but she really wanted you to come and I haven't seen you since school ended and I know we've been texting all the time but I missed seeing you everyday and I should have asked you if you were free first and—"

"Britt," Santana interrupts with a soft smile, adoration ballooning in her chest again at the blonde's rambling until it feels like she might just burst with how much love she has for the girl in front of her. That, and the fact that Brittany is also so unsure and nervous about where this thing between them is going makes Santana feel about a billion times better about her own anxiety. "It's okay," she assures, and she wonders if Brittany can feel her love from where she stands three feet away. Pink spreads high on Brittany's cheeks and across the tip of her nose as she relaxes. "I'd love to go on a picnic," Santana continues with a glance between her two favourite people in the whole world, "But since it's short notice you're going to have to wait around for me to shower and have breakfast first."

The munchkin's grin and cheer at this news are rivalled only by the bright smile slowly spreading across Brittany's face again. "I brought you a coffee. And that breakfast sandwich you like so much from the Lima Bean. They're just in the basket," she says, nudging the basket with her sneakered toe.

Santana sighs and blames the fact that she's still a little sleepy when her only response is, "You really are the perfect girl."

Both of their blushes deepen, eyes too bright and too wide on each other, until the munchkin starts tugging on Santana's hand. "Can I watch cartoons until you're done getting ready 'Tana?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," she says, still a little dazed by what just came out of her mouth and the fact that Brittany is looking at her like she just got all of her Christmas and birthday presents at once. The munchkin kicks off her sneakers and scampers off towards the living room, searching around the couches and coffee table for the remotes and making herself at home as if she's lived in the living room her whole life.

Brittany steps into the house, leaning down to move the picnic basket inside the door before shutting it with her hip. When she stands up she's suddenly a lot closer than before, with Santana still frozen to the spot just on the end of the old mat inside the entrance to the house.

Brittany breathes in sharply as the scent of Santana invades her senses, still bed-warm and sleepy, and she smiles shyly. "Hi," she whispers.

Santana smiles, a little awed and a little shy as well, tipping her chin up slightly to take in the freckles across Brittany's nose and cheeks like a sprinkling of wet sand and the slight sunburn already pinking the peak of her cheekbones where the skin squishes up agains her eyes whenever she smiles. "Hi," she whispers back.

"You look adorable," Brittany mumbles, glancing at Santana from beneath her eyelashes, timid and earnest and more than a little bashful.

Santana's body shivers involuntarily and she smiles up at Brittany. She wants to maintain her tough façade and tell Brittany that she's not adorable, but the flush darkening Brittany's cheeks and the adoration sparking in bright blue eyes makes it hard for Santana to do anything other than melt into a contented puddle on the floor like a kitten rolling over into a sunbeam. "Yeah?" she murmurs, eyes caught on Brittany's.

Brittany nods earnestly, reaching over to pluck at her own surname emblazoned across the back of Santana's shirt, something warm and bright and longing rippling across her face. "Totally," she assures, stepping even closer and further into Santana's space, the fingers that were plucking at Santana's shirt sliding up and over the back of her neck and into thick hair as her other hand rests softly against Santana's bicep.

"Well you're pretty adorable yourself, Pierce," Santana teases softly, and everything suddenly makes so much sense that she can't help herself when she curls her fingers into the belt loops of Brittany's jean shorts and tugs her until they're flush against each other, rising up briefly on her tiptoes to press her lips chastely to Brittany's, swallowing her coffee-scented breath and the taste of her vanilla lip-chap and a hum of contentment as Brittany's lips automatically part under hers.

Santana draws back after a moment, the lengths of their bodies still pressed flush against each other, lips tingling with Brittany's vanilla chapstick, and as suddenly as everything made perfect sense fear bubbles up again in Santana's chest. "Was that okay?" she asks, the gut-churning terror that she just messed everything up, _again_ , making her words come out all squished and high and flighty.

Brittany smiles easily and scratches her fingers soothingly against Santana's scalp as her hand slides further up into dark hair, her other hand rubbing up and down Santana's bare arm. She presses another quick, chaste kiss to Santana's lips, smiling into the kiss when she feels Santana relax and hum under her. She draws back and can't help but to press her lips to Santana's again. "It was perfect," she whispers and savours the pleasant twist in her stomach as Santana smiles shyly up at her, until the face she adores so spreads into dimples and teeth and crinkled eyes and she's beaming up at Brittany.

"Good," Santana whispers back, rising up on her tiptoes and pressing one, two, three kisses to warm lips in quick succession before pulling back and extracting herself from Brittany's arms with a small smile. "I really do have to go and shower," she says reluctantly, only to be interrupted by the growling of her stomach, "and eat," she adds sheepishly.

Brittany giggles and steps towards Santana again, wrapping her fingers around a slim wrist and tugging once to pull Santana back to her for one more kiss, both smiling against the other's mouth before Brittany finally releases Santana and steps away. "Okay, you can go now."

Santana giggles and turns towards the stairs, lingering slightly at the bottom so she can send Brittany one last blushing smile before scampering up the stairs two at a time, feeling much more comfortable about where exactly she stands with Brittany than she had, tossing and turning, the night before.

An hour later, after a shower and some food and one last episode of cartoons, the three of them make their way down the street to the green area and park a couple blocks from Santana's house. The park is pretty quiet, only a couple of kids shrieking at each other on the playground and a couple families spread out across the grass in the sun. They settle under a large oak closer to the row of fenced yards bordering the south side of the park than to the playground. It's the same oak where Santana and blushingly pushed herself up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Brittany's for the very first time, twelve years-old and filled with kid-stupid bravery and a dare from Brittany herself, back before everything was complicated and they were just _Santana-and-Brittany_ , back before Santana got terrified of everything she was feeling and Brittany got terrified of scaring Santana away. Santana glances over at Brittany as they spread the blanket on the ground, still able to remember the wonderment on Brittany's face and the way her cheeks pinked after Santana pulled back.

Brittany wears that same look now, cheeks pink and eyes bright and smile soft, and Santana knows they're remembering the same thing. And then the munchkin is tugging on both of their hands, dragging them, giggling and excited, to the playground. Santana and Brittany just smile helplessly at each other over the munchkin's head and let themselves be pulled off under the bright summer sun.

Hours later they're back on the blanket, munching on snacks and giggling at the munchkin's stories of schoolmates and dreams and far-off places. As Brittany pulls out a bag of cherries for them to share the munchkin perks up and stops mid-story.

"Do the thing! Do the thing! Do the thing!" she cries, jumping up and down on her knees like she can't contain her excitement.

Santana reaches over and ruffles her dark hair with a grin. "What thing, squirt?"

The munchkin scowls and swats at the hand on her head and looks so much like a younger Santana for a moment that the two older girls look at each other and burst out laughing. The munchkin's scowl deepens and Brittany tries to control her laughter, reaching forward for a cherry and popping it, steam and all, into her mouth before leaning back on her hands, her legs stretched out on the blanket and partially tangled with Santana's and partially tangled with the munchkin's. Everyone had lost their shoes before running through the playground's sand and their feet were all filthy from chasing each other around the park. "Chill, lil' sis," she says carefully around the cherry, nudging the munchkin's thigh with her toes, "I'm doing it."

Santana tilts her head at Brittany, who spits the cherry pit into the grass a couple feet from the blanket, and the munchkin's scowl is replaced with a smile as bright as Brittany's as she claps her hands together. Brittany smirks at Santana and winks, and Santana's stomach bottoms out as she starts to realize what exactly Brittany's doing.

Brittany's mouth works for a while, twisting back and forth, and Santana tries to ignore the twist in her own stomach at the look on Brittany's face as she gazes at her, something amused and just on this side of indecent dancing in her bright blue eyes. The munchkin just keeps bouncing and clapping like an overexcitable golden retriever which, considering she's a Pierce, isn't actually all that far off. Finally Brittany grins and sticks her tongue out, the cherry steam resting on the tip of her tongue, still stained blue from the blue-raspberry candy they shared earlier, a perfect knot tied in the middle of the steam.

The munchkin giggles with delight and cheers and Santana's mouth goes completely dry while Brittany continues to smirk at her.

"Wasn't that _amazing_ 'Tana?" the munchkin squeals, tugging on Santana's arm. Santana makes a noise of agreement and tries to focus on not swallowing her tongue or jumping Brittany's bones in broad daylight at the park as she remembers exactly how talented that tongue is and how those pink lips felt pressed against her own just that morning.

"'Tana?"

"Huh?"

"Are you feeling okay? Your face is all bright and warm-looking and stuff."

Santana blinks and draws her eyes from where Brittany's mouth had stretched into a knowing smirk to glance at the munchkin. "Yeah I'm fine," she assures, ignoring how raspy her voice has gone, "It's just really warm out." One glance at Brittany tells her that her hoarse voice is doing the same thing to the blonde that Brittany's cherry-stem knot is doing to her. She allows herself a small, smug smile and this time she's the one who sends Brittany a knowing smirk. Brittany just grins at being caught, winking and sticking her tongue out, the cherry-stem still stark against he blue-tinted pink of her tongue. Santana groans and leans back against the oak tree, but her grin doesn't leave her face as Brittany starts giggling.

It's barely a few minutes after the munchkin's exciting bouncing when she crashes, suddenly and without warning, like always, and slumps against the tree beside Santana before curling into her side. She throws a careless arm around Santana's middle when the older girl raises her arm to wrap around the tiny shoulders pressed against her.

"I missed you, 'Tana," she mumbles sleepily, her head lolling against Santana's shoulder and her legs coming up so she can curl against Santana better.

Santana swallows thickly and glances up to see Brittany already staring at her, steady and soft. "I missed you too," Brittany whispers.

Santana closes her eyes briefly, partially savouring the moment and partially trying to stop the tears stinging her eyes. "I missed you guys too," she admits in a rasp.

Her only answer is a tiny snore from the munchkin, muffled slightly by Santana's shoulder where her face is buried. Santana glances up at Brittany and everything in her eases as they giggle at each other. Santana blushes and smiles down at her lap when Brittany lifts her phone and snaps quick pictures of Santana and her sister, ignoring Santana's giggling protests as Brittany takes pictures in increasingly dramatic positions, muttering directions to Santana like an obnoxious paparazzi.

Santana pretends she's not blushing furiously when Brittany makes the best one her lockscreen. It's one where the munchkin is curling further into Santana's side, face pressed to a cloth covered shoulder and drooling slightly into it, fingers curled in Santana's shirt and bunching the fabric across her stomach, Santana's face turned towards the small, dark head of hair against her, smile soft and a secure arm protectively wrapped around tiny shoulders.

She also pretends she's not blushing furiously when, after a quick glance around the nearly deserted park, Brittany leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the munchkin's forehead, grinning fondly when her sister mumbles sleepily and curls further into Santana's warmth, and then leans up to press a lingering kiss to Santana's forehead, drawing back slowly and flushing prettily when she catches Santana's wide-eyed look of wonder and longing. After one more glance around the park, Brittany leans back in and presses her mouth gently against chapped lips, soft and timid, only pulling back when more sleepy mumbles reach their ears, both blushing and smiling at each other in the long, evening shadows of the old oak tree where they had first blushingly pressed their lips against each other.

* * *

June comes and goes in the quiet moments, with shy smiles exchanged over sidewalks and kitchen tables and popcorn bowls, with not-a-date-coffee-dates at the Lima Bean with feet tangled together under the table and blushes frozen permanently to cheeks, with hands slipping innocently under tank tops and t-shirts during chaste kisses that always slow before becoming something more, with arms brushing in the bright afternoon sun and fingers tangled in the light of the moon and soft smiles as they watch a different sunset each weekend from childhood wooden swings in backyards.

* * *

"Your marshmallows are so gross."

"Gross? Really, squirt? Just because you like yours burnt to a crisp instead of perfect, golden, gooey goodness doesn't make _my_ marshmallows gross."

"Well it just does. Who wants uncooked marshmallows anyway?"

Brittany laughs and nudges her sister in the side with the toe of her sneakers, sprawled sideways across the camping chair so her head lolls toward's Santana, their armrests overlapping each other's. "Well _I_ like San's marshmallows the best."

"Well you're gross too," the munchkin declares, and then marches around to the other side of the fire to their dad. He sends a wink at them over the flickering flames and grins when the munchkin demands to be cuddled because the older girls are weird and gross and have a vendetta against her marshmallows.

Brittany just rolls her eyes and gives Santana a smirk that slides into an adoring smile when Santana offers her a s'more with a perfectly golden, gooey marshmallow. "Thanks," she murmurs and Santana's smile turns inward and bashful as Brittany takes the s'more from her.

"You're welcome, Britt," she murmurs, settling back into her camping chair and snuggling further into the hoodie Brittany had gently tugging over her head before they headed out to start the fire, her bicep making a rest for Brittany's head. The sun had long set and the munchkin should have been in bed hours ago, but the sunlight had been lazily warm all day and Pierce Pierce had treated the family to a steak barbecue just because and Whitney Pierce had made baked potatoes and marinated veggies for the grill and boiled corn on the cob and Brittany and Santana had volunteered to build a fire just as the sun was starting to creep back behind the horizon, to the equal excitement of the munchkin and Pierce.

Brittany pulls apart her s'more and splits her time between dropping gooey chocolatey pieces of crackers into her mouth and feeding them to Santana. Brittany has to reach her arm up and over her head to feed Santana, forcing Santana to lean over and let her face hover above Brittany's in order to wrap her lips around the offered s'more, occasionally nipping at fingertips whenever she notices Whitney and Pierce are caught up in their conversation and ignoring a pouting munchkin. Eating the s'more sends them into fits of giggles as strings of marshmallows draw out like spider silk and stick to chins as Brittany pulls the s'more apart, wiping the other's mouth with fingers they wished were really lips. Neither of them notice Whitney's small, knowing smile across the fire as she watches the two girls who have been inseparable since that first week of kindergarten.

"I knew this was the place to be. Mind if we join."

Everyone at the fire glances up at the two newcomers, neighbours of the Pierce's that moved in about six years ago and who have grown kids and kind smiles. Pierce waves at them as the munchkin buries herself further into his embrace, still pouting at Santana and Brittany across the fire, while Whitney greets the neighbours before turning to the two girls eating the last of their s'more, far more subdued than they were mere moments ago when it was just them and Brittany's warm family.

"Brittany, go and take Santana and get some more chairs from the garage."

"It's okay, mom," Brittany says as she swings her self around so she's sitting in the chair properly, rubbing her sticky fingers against her jeans before standing, "they can have our chairs. I wanna look all the different kinds of stars in the sky anyways."

"Don't they all look the same?" their neighbour asks, trying to politely correct her, but before Brittany can feels the itch of being once again misunderstand flush her cheeks Santana stands and steps beside her, hands buried deep in the front pocket of Brittany's slightly too-baggy hoodie.

Her face remains pleasant and her voice drips with false sweetness as she smiles up at the neighbour. "No, they're not all the same. They all have a different story."

And then she threads her arm through Brittany's, elbows locking together, and leads her away from the fire, far enough that the conversation turns to a quiet murmur and they're hidden from the circle of light the flickering flames cast around the backyard, before flopping down on the dew-cool ground and patting the space beside her.

"Thanks, Santana," Brittany murmurs, gazing down at the lazily stretched out body of her best friend and feeling a blooming sense of happiness when she thinks of how lucky she is that they met.

"Anytime, Britt," Santana says easily. "Just because those assholes don't get it doesn't mean you should be embarrassed. It's their own fault they're not as smart as you are."

Brittany's face flushes and opens like a flower curling towards the sun and she feels a pleasant tugging in her stomach as she lays down beside Santana, leaving precious few inches between them as Santana smiles at her, proud and shining.

They lay there in comfortably silence, only broken by the occasional bout of laughter from the fire or Brittany pointing out a cluster of stars and explaining the story of their constellation or Santana's curious questions as she regards Brittany with eyes as bright and open as the stars above them.

Santana breaks the comfortable silence after long moments of staring up at the stars.

"You broke my heart," she admits to the stars.

"I know," Brittany murmurs. Santana sighs softly and turns her head to look at Brittany, her pale face shrouded in inky shadows on one side and lit up in the faintest of gold by the flickering firelight on the other, the freckles along her temple caught in dancing shadows. They smile softly at each other, their cheeks cooling where they press in the damp grass so they can study the other, mentally tracing the outline of features they already know better than their own. "You broke my heart too."

"I know," Santana says. Brittany hums in agreement and they spend long moments caught in each others eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire as it spits and twists around wood and the buzz of mosquitoes, the murmuring of conversation and laughter on the other side of the yard and the dog barking in the distance, the sounds of a party down the street and the gentle rasp of the other's breathing. Santana shuffles closer and Brittany mirrors her until there are mere millimetres between their shoulders, close enough that their shoulders brush against the other's every time they breathe in and out.

Brittany shifts slightly, lifting her hand off her stomach and bringing it down to rest in the short distance between their thighs, palm up and waiting. Santana only hesitates for a moment, dark eyes searching bright blue, before she smiles softly and takes Brittany's hand, lacing their fingers together in the shadows of their bodies. "We should stop doing that, you know," Santana murmurs, "breaking each other's hearts."

A smile spreads across Brittany's face, slowly pulling her lips thin before her eyes squish and her eyebrows turn towards each other and her tongue darts to rest between her teeth as a content sigh catches itself against her lips. "Yeah, we really should."

Santana's helpless to stop her widening smile in response, dimpling her cheek and scrunching her nose up to crinkle her eyes. "Yeah," she agrees, and then shifts closer to Brittany until their arms press together all along the length, still fire-warm on the top and grass-cool on the bottom, and their knees knock together as she wraps her ankle around Brittany's. Santana curves slightly until her head rests against Brittany's shoulder, her dark hair tickling against Brittany's cheek and neck. Brittany cranes her neck up to glance at the fire, her mom and dad small shadows across the yard, huddled around a stick with a flaming marshmallow on it, her sister's jumping around ridiculously as she tries to blow it out, while their neighbours laugh and call encouragement across the circle.

In the light of the stars and the fire, hidden in the inky darkness just out of the gazes of her family, Brittany snuggles into Santana and drops a series of kisses to the head of nighttime sky hair pressed against her shoulder, trailing her smile along Santana's head as a sleepy, content sigh reaches her ears and fingers tighten on hers, palms sliding together and elbows bumping as Santana curls closer to Brittany.

Brittany feels the ghost of soft lips over her shoulder before a steady exhale of breath tells her that Santana's already dozing off.

Brittany smiles against Santana's hair, before relaxing and turning her gaze back to the inky darkness to count glimmering stars again, her heartbeat steady in the wrist pressed against Santana's, echoing Santana's own.

* * *

July is lazy days spent laying around their houses, complaining about too-difficult-exams and complaining about having to go back to school in only two months and tickling each other until they collapse in a fit of giggles, arms and legs hopelessly tangled on the floors of their bedrooms and on the grass in their yards and under the shade of oak trees when they take the munchkin to the park for a picnic, fingers sticky from dripping ice cream smiles that are warm and teasing and bright.

* * *

"Again, mom?"

The look Brittany's mom sends Brittany has her grumbling an apology and agreeing to watch her sister and all her little friends while their mom meets with some friends for coffee and some shopping in the next town over.

Santana looks up from where she's perched on an island stool, a peanut butter and banana sandwich halfway to her mouth, eyes darting between Brittany and her mom before she swallows her bite of sandwich and sets it down on her plate again. "We don't mind! Right, Britt-Britt?" Brittany sighs and shakes her head, avoiding her mom's pointed look. "We didn't have anything else planned for today anyways."

Brittany shoots Santana a pointed look and Santana fights the urge to remind Brittany that making out on her bed all day while pretending to watch movies doesn't technically count as plans; even harder than that, she fights the blush spreading prickling heat under her skin at the thought of making out with Brittany on her bed all day while pretending to watch movies.

"My favourite daughter," Brittany's mom teases, beaming and pressing a kiss to the side of Santana's head as she passes, before reaching for her purse and giving Brittany's temple a kiss too as she exits the kitchen. Santana just giggles in embarrassment and delight and Brittany can't help the smile that spreads across her face; she really loves how much her family loves Santana, she loves it kind of a whole lot.

Brittany slinks over to Santana once they hear the garage door open and close, using her body to crowd Santana between the counter and the back of her stool, smirking as Santana's eyes automatically drop to thin, pink lips. Brittany lets her fingers dance across the bare shoulder in front of her, her torso trapping Santana's right arm against her stomach and eyes tracing the twist of Santana's neck as she turns her face up towards Brittany. She walks her fingers across the expanse of tan skin between Santana's shoulder and neck that she would love to suck bruises to, skipping the strap of the navy blue tank top and instead slipping her fingers under the tied bow of Santana's black bikini, her smirk widening as Santana's breath hitches as she scratches blunt fingernails gently over the nape of Santana's neck.

Brittany pauses and listens for a moment above them before leaning forward and capturing Santana's lips in the quiet of the mostly empty house. Santana hums in approval as her mouth opens under Brittany's and her neck twists further towards Brittany, one hand coming up and around her body to cup Brittany's jaw and hold her in place, tilting their faces towards each other until their noses squish together and their chins bump every time they rock into the kiss, her other arm still trapped awkwardly between their bodies. Santana's fingers slide along Brittany's jaw, curling up to settle by her ear and stroke her thumb across a freckled cheekbone, smiling into the kiss when she feels Brittany's eyelashes flutter against the pad of her thumb. Brittany presses closer to her, her fingers sliding out from under the tied bow of Santana's bikini strings and up into dark hair, her other hand coming to rest on Santana's bare thigh, fingers slipping under the hem and stroking the soft skin there as Santana's smile turns into a groan and she turns her body on the stool towards Brittany. Brittany steps into the open-V of Santana's legs and tilts Santana's head further up towards her. Santana's newly freed hand grips at Brittany's hip before sliding around to slip into Brittany's back pocket and she swallows Brittany's moan as they continue to rock into the kiss.

"Mmm," Brittany hums as she pulls back just enough to dart her tongue out across her own lips, chest heaving as she struggles for oxygen and mouth almost brushing against Santana's again, "Peanut buttery."

Santana gasps and swats at Brittany's shoulder. "Britt!" she protests, but her giggles and own breathlessness kind of render her disapproval moot, especially when she tilts her head up the scant few millimetres between them and recaptures Brittany's lips against her own. She languidly licks into Brittany's mouth and swallows Brittany's moan as she tastes peanut butter and bananas and milk and, somewhere under all of that, Santana. Santana tilts Brittany's head further into her with the hand still sliding against her ear, using her other hand, still tucked in the back pocket of jean shorts, to press Brittany even closer. Brittany hums and it buzzes across their lips, tickling so much that Santana breaks away to giggle into Brittany's neck.

After a long moment to collect herself and her breath she leans back and slides the hand cupping Brittany's cheek around to brush the moisture from Brittany's kiss-swollen lips, pinker and brighter than usual. Brittany darts her tongue out to lick at Santana's fingertips and it's that, even after heavily making out with and teasing Brittany at the kitchen island, that makes Santana flush and glance down with a shy smile. Brittany's heart feels like it's about to burst at Santana's bashfulness and instead she leans forward again to press a chaste kiss to the fingers she had just been nipping at.

"I love you," she breathes against the fingertips pressed to her mouth and Santana looks up, eyes brimming with open longing and adoration, wearing that same lovesick, bashful, _who-me?_ expression she's worn every time Brittany's told her this over the course of the summer.

Santana breathes in and presses against Brittany with the hand still buried in jean pockets again, drawing Brittany even further into her body as she looks up at Brittany, eyes dark and deep and searching for something she always seems to easily find on Brittany's face as they crinkle into a smile. "I love you too," she murmurs quietly, and Brittany's heart still jumps at that admission, stretching and yearning towards Santana in elation.

Brittany hears the door open upstairs before she hears her sister tearing down the hall and she gives Santana a quick kiss before reluctantly pulling away, putting the kitchen island between them and nodding towards the entryway to the kitchen at Santana's questioning look. Seconds later, the pound of feet down the stairs reach their ears mere moments before the munchkin slides into view in a red and blue bathing suit, jumping up and down and shouting "They're here!" before racing towards the front door.

Santana looks over at Brittany and they both grin and laugh at the munchkin's antics. Santana returns to her sandwich and finishes off the last half, offering Brittany the last bite, one she takes with pleasure because her lips brushing Santana's fingers as she wraps her lips around the sandwich brings a pretty flustered look to Santana's face.

The munchkin and four of her friends tear through the kitchen at that moment, paying no mind to the two older girls, and even less mind when Brittany shouts at them to not run in the house or around the pool, rolling her eyes as the screen door slams shut without a response.

She reaches for Santana's plate and glass, turning towards the sink and ignoring Santana's protests that she can clean her stuff up as she stands and starts moving towards Brittany. Brittany nods towards the backyard and smiles at Santana. "Go on and keep an eye on the crazies instead. I'll tidy up in here. It'll take me like ten minutes."

"You sure?" Santana asks, hesitating at the end of the island.

Brittany rolls her eyes fondly and smacks Santana's ass as she passes to grab her sister's messy leftover plate and cup off the table from her earlier lunch, earning a playful protest and blush. "I'm positive. Go get your tan on."

Santana still hesitates before glancing over her shoulder towards the porch and seeing the girls already in the pool. She takes three quick steps towards Brittany and leans up to brush her lips shyly over Brittany's. It still amazes Brittany how, despite heavily making out a mere ten minutes earlier, Santana can still get so bashful and blushing about such a chaste kiss. "Thanks," she murmurs as she draws back and turns to exit the kitchen, grinning around her blush when she feels the weight of Brittany's goofy smile on her back.

True to her word, a shadow looms over Santana and blocks out the sun almost exactly ten minutes later. Santana smiles before opening her eyes, already knowing who's standing over her. When her eyes do blink open her mouth drys at the expanse of pale, freckled skin stretched out before her, eyes dropping from twin braids of golden hair resting on sun-pinked shoulders to trace the line of a lime-green and white bikini covering milky breasts, following the definition of abs that Santana loves to press sucking kisses to, down to the striped bikini bottoms and pausing at the muscled thighs inches from her face, eyes darting up a couple inches to catch on the small triangle of moles Santana knows is hidden just below the fabric in front of her.

And there's just— There's just a lot of bare skin, okay? And she already knows exactly how that bare skin tastes and feels under her lips and fingers, okay? And it's been such a long time since she last got to trace the shape of her love against the pale skin in front of her, okay And she's only human.

"Santana?"

Santana swallows thickly and looks up to see Brittany's eyes sparkling brightly, like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Yeah, Britt?" she rasps.

Brittany holds out a bottle of sunscreen to Santana, her smile entirely too mischievous for their current company of her young sister and friends. "Will you get my back? I don't trust the munchkin to do it. And, well," she gestures to the shrieking girls in the pool for the rest of her answer.

Santana stares at the outstretched bottle before slowly reaching for it and sitting up, reluctantly patting the striped fabric of the lawn chair in front of her for Brittany to sit down, tucking one foot under the crease of her other knee and to make room for Brittany between her legs. It's not that she cares about putting sunscreen on Brittany's back, if anything she rather enjoys touching Brittany's sun-warm skin and counting the freckles there, she rather enjoys it quite a lot, actually. It's just with the munchkin screaming and giggling with her friends in the pool, Santana feels more than a little awkward, and feels more than a little bit of fear churning under her sternum.

She must have been silent for too long because Brittany turns between her knees, staring at her thoughtfully while she traces small patterns along Santana's knee where it rests beside her hip. "It's okay if you don't want to," she murmurs, eyes caught on helpless brown, "I can get the munchkin to do it."

Santana swallows and grabs for Brittany's wrist as she starts to stand. "No, no. It's fine." Brittany hovers above the chair, half standing and half crouching, caught by the slim fingers clutching desperately at her. "Really," Santana insists, giving Brittany a small smile and tugging gently on Brittany's arm to guide her back down between Santana's knees, "I'll do it."

It's worth swallowing her fear for the beaming smile Brittany gives her, all teeth and sparkling blue and freckles, as she settles herself easily between Santana's knees. Santana takes a deep breath and pours a generous squirt of lotion into her palm, cringing at the silky-slimy-coolness that soaks into her skin as she rubs her hands together, trying to warm the lotion up and prolong the inevitable before slowly pressing her hands to Brittany's shoulder blades.

Brittany shivers despite her attempts to warm the sunscreen and hums as Santana starts to spread the white lotion across her shoulders, carefully dipping tan fingers beneath the green bikini strings and down along the subtle line of vertebrae and into the dimples at the small of her back, before running her palms back up and spreading it across already pinked shoulders and up the expanse of neck, carefully avoiding getting too much lotion in the fine, baby strands of blonde hair at the edge of Brittany's hairline.

Spreading the lotion quickly turns less into rubbing sunscreen into Brittany's back and shoulders and more tracing the lines of muscle as they twitch under her fingertips and marvelling at the expanse of _softsoftsoft_ skin stretching in front of her. There's no more lotion between Santana's palms and Brittany's skin, and the rest of the word fades away as she runs her fingers across the silky skin, freckled and pink from long days already spend lounging in the morning sun and chasing the munchkin around in the hot afternoons. Santana rests her hands flat against shoulder blades just to feel Brittany's breath jump under her palms, running one down to trace the gentle slope of her spine and the other up to play with one of the blonde braids dropping over her shoulder and down her back as Brittany tilts her head a little to look back at Santana, her eyes heavy and hooded and darkened blue.

The munchkin and her friends go running by then, screaming and giggling and ignoring Brittany's shout to slow down around the pool and Santana jerks herself away from Brittany's back so hard she accidentally yanks on the blonde braid still caught between her fingers and wrenches Brittany's head back. Brittany lets out a squawk of pain that's covered by the splashes of the munchkin and her friends cannonballing into the pool. Santana clutches her hands together and wants to apologize, she wants to fall on her knees and beg for forgiveness for pulling Brittany's hair and for jumping at a bunch of eight-almost-nine year-olds and for being unable to hold her hand in front of anyone and for the entirety of the last year and for breaking both of their hearts over and over and over and over again and for that deep, ever-present, aching shame that claws at the inside of her stomach and demands to be let out and for being so _fucking_ _scared_ all the time.

Instead, Santana stares, wide-eyed, past Brittany's head, trying to control the play of emotions she can feel bubbling inside and crumpling when she feels Brittany's warm hand settle on her knee, comforting and patient, and she almost sobs against Brittany's back when she drops her head down to press her forehead there.

"I don't know why I'm so scared all the time," she mumbles, but what she really wants to say is _I'm sorry I can't do this yet_ and _I want to more than anything else in the entire world_ and _It's hard in the light of day_ and _My family's not like yours_ and _I don't know why I'm still scared around them_ and _That's a lie I do know_ and _They all believe in keeping secrets a secret_ and _I don't know if I'd still have a place to sleep if I told them this one_ and _I don't know if I'd still have a family_ and _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ —

"It's okay, Santana," Brittany reassures gently and Santana's heart breaks and mends itself in those six syllables.

Santana presses her forehead further into Brittany's shoulder blade, dropping a quick kiss to the skin right below her lips and crinkling her nose when all she tastes is the chemically acid sweetness of sunscreen instead of Brittany. "I'm sorry," she finally manages to mumbles.

Brittany starts to turn around but freezes when Santana presses her hands to her spine, holding them both frozen in place, unable to bring herself to look into those too bright, patient blue eyes right now. "For what?" Brittany asks softly, settling back in place.

Santana swallows and presses another quick kiss to Brittany's shoulder blade, ignoring the grossness of the sunscreen and smiling briefly when she feels a shiver under her palms. "For being like this. For not being able to tell anyone," Santana sighs deeply burrowing her forehead further against Brittany, to the point that she pushes Brittany forward the slightest bit, "For making you wait."

Brittany is quiet for a long time, but Santana can feel even breaths under her palms, can feel a steady and sure heartbeat under her forehead. "Oh, Santana," Brittany finally says, her voice soft and sweet and broken and carrying all her love. Santana feels her stomach twist pleasantly, like the first sip of hot chocolate sliding down her throat and settling warmly inside her after a long day of building snowmen outside with a tinier and more carefree but no less beloved Brittany, back when everything was easier. "You're getting there," Brittany assures, her hand starting to trace patterns on Santana's knee again, sending tingles throughout Santana's entire body.

Santana sighs and remains relaxed and silent for a moment before turning her head slightly, pressing her temple to Brittany's shoulder blade and staring at a strawberry-blonde mole sitting a couple centimetres above the green bikini string in front of her face. "I just feel bad," she admits.

Brittany continues to breathe steadily under Santana's face, still tracing patterns across Santana's knee. "About what?"

"That I can't—" Santana freezes for a second, choking on her words, before pulling back to try and distance herself from Brittany's too soft and too distracting skin in order to rebuild her thoughts. "That I can't be who you want me to be right now," she finally confesses in a trembling voice.

Brittany spins around so fast Santana's head reels. "Don't you dare."

"What?" Santana squawks when Brittany's hands grab her shoulders, blue eyes flashing fiercely, as Santana's own hands automatically come up to grab Brittany's forearms.

"I don't want you to be anyone other than you," Brittany whispers, her voice low and intense and fervent.

Santana swallows thickly. "Britt," she starts to protest, but Brittany cuts her off.

Brittany leans closer, until her peanut-butter-raspberry-jam breath fans across Santana's cheeks, "I fell in love with _you_ , Santana, not whatever version of you that you think I want. I'm _still_ falling in love with that you, the you that you are when you're around me. The one that causes me to fall hopelessly and helplessly in love with you every time you smile or hold my hand or look at me. I want to fall asleep next to you so many times that I know you even better than I already do by morning. And I want to forget everything I know about you so that I can relearn it with perfect newness a million times the next day." Brittany's hands slide from Santana's shoulders, up her neck until she's cupping Santana's face in her palms. "I want you to be _you_."

Santana's breath catches and her fingers tighten around Brittany's forearms. "I don't care if you're not ready to tell everyone yet," Brittany continues, voice still low and blue eyes still fierce. "I don't care if you're not ready to tell anyone until we leave this town or sometime after that. I only care that you are the _you_ that I'm stupidly in love with, and that you learn to accept that I'm so in love with that you that I can't see straight half the time." Brittany's lips quirk up at the unintentional pun, and she stays there grinning at Santana, waiting until her lips tremble around a small smile in return.

"Britt," Santana murmurs, her voice quivering and her lips trembling. "I— That's— I mean," she trails off and tries to swallow the emotion in her throat before looking up into Brittany's bright eyes, "Thank you," she finally murmurs, hoping Brittany understands everything she can't say around the thick lump in her throat, hoping that Brittany understands that her fear won't hold her in this place of limbo forever because she won't allow it to, hoping that Brittany understands that what she really means to say is _I love you, I love you, I love you_. Brittany's eyes gleam and, with a quick glance over her shoulder to the pool on the other side of the yard, making sure that they remain partially hidden in the shadow of the house, she leans in and brushes her chapped lips sweetly against Santana's once, twice, three times, tasting sweetly of peanut butter and raspberries and sunlight.

Santana sighs into the butterfly kisses, breathing in Brittany and the comfort of summertime.

Brittany understands what she means, she always does.

* * *

July comes and goes in the quiet moments, with legs tangled above the too warm comforter and fingers tracing swirling patterns over the spaces between ribs, with a fan curling gusts of too-warm summer air around the room and candy scented breath filling the air and chlorine clinging to sun kissed skin, with thunderstorms unable to cool the sticky air and lips chapped from the summer wind counting new freckles every night, with toothpaste kisses traded in the dusky evening as the sun sets and faces pressed too close to sleep and just close enough to breath properly for the first time in months.

* * *

Brittany holds her breath and waits in the thunderstorm-darkness of the late night, curled up beside Santana under the covers for the first time all week, the sticky-hotness of a heat wave finally broken by the thunderstorm that's been brewing on the horizon all day, energy cackling in the air as Lima held its breath and waited for the inevitable.

Brittany's holding her breath for a different reason. She's been waiting for a different inevitable. Waiting for the energy cackling in Santana's body to break, waiting for the snap of energy like she waited to watch the first fat drops of rain hit the sidewalk, pressed against the living room window. Santana spent the day staring so hard into Brittany's eyes that her soul trembled, falling in the dark depths that were caught on hers, waiting patiently as Santana opened and closed her mouth until she shook her head and glanced away with a strange mix of frustration and anger and sadness.

Brittany knows that Santana's really been waiting for the darkness before she could convince herself to speak, and so Brittany was waiting for that too. It's always easier in the dark, to share secrets, because there's a safety to inky darkness, it always flees in the pink of the inevitable sunrise, taking the night's shade and secrets with it.

Sometimes Brittany thinks about that, inevitable things like sunrises and forever and infinity. She understands math, more or less. Or she understands it perfectly when teachers aren't staring at her with those expectant and critical eyes that make embarrassment crawl, hot and prickling, under her skin and loosens her brain-to-mouth filter because it's just hard to explain things like forever and limits and infinity when everyone already knows she's going to give the wrong answer.

She understands things like forever and limits and infinity, more or less, and whenever she's confused she just has to catch Santana's eyes and all the muddled confusion and crawling embarrassment falls away and things like forever and infinity make sense because she always knows the exact right answer when Santana is looking up at her with pride.

Thunder rumbles quietly overhead and off to the south. The storm's moving but the rain continues to pound against the window, even though Santana's bedroom window is set against the base of the house, partially hidden underneath the porch.

Santana takes a deep breath and Brittany turns her head to press her face to the crown of Santana's head, counting the spaces between Santana's breathes and waiting patiently for Santana.

"I—" Santana's breath rumbles in her chest where it's pressed to Brittany's side. Brittany stares up at the ceiling and continues to wait for Santana; she'd wait forever for this moment, but she's always known, somewhere deep beneath her sternum where her feelings seem to root and bloom up and out, that she wouldn't have to. "I—" Santana tries again, and then presses her face further into Brittany's shoulder and takes a deep breath.

"I'm gay."

Brittany sighs and smiles at the ceiling, tightening her arms around Santana. "I know," she mumbles.

Santana sighs too and buries herself further into Brittany's warmth, sliding her fingers under Brittany's tank and scratching softly against her stomach. "I know you know," she says, and kisses Brittany's bare shoulder to prove her point, a tiny smile curving her lips against the bed-warm skin under her mouth. "I just," she pauses as she nudges her nose along Brittany's soft skin. The darkness sits heavy and comforting around them, shadows dancing across the room as rain continues to pelt the window. The house is quiet in the early hours of the morning, and the storm outside almost completely masks the sound of Santana's mother wandering around on the main floor as she gets home from a late shift at the hospital. Brittany runs a hand up Santana's back back and smooths dark hair away from her face.

"I've never said it out loud," Santana finally admits, voice small. "I've never said 'I'm gay' out loud before. Not even to myself."

Brittany presses a kiss to the top of Santana's head, breathing in the chemical scent of citrus and vanilla and pinewood. "I'm so proud of you," she whispers into the dark hair against her lips.

"Yeah?" Santana whispers back, her voice somehow even smaller than before, shrinking like a crocus in the dying light of sunset.

Brittany shifts on the bed, turning slightly so she's pressed more fully along Santana's length, limbs tangled and bodies touching at every possible place. "So proud," she repeats, more sure of this one thing than she's ever been of anything before. "So, so, so, _so_ proud of how far you've come."

"Even if I have a long way to go?" Santana asks meekly.

Brittany presses the tips of her fingers into the base of Santana's spine, savouring Santana's full-body shiver that fingertips on spot always elicit. "Especially then," she promises.

Santana shifts against Brittany, their legs sliding closer together as Santana tightens her arms around Brittany, drawing her closer into her body and feeling her soul tremble at the warmth and comfort and love that soaks through Brittany's skin and into her own. Santana lets out a breathy laugh as Brittany's hands run down her body, trailing over skin and dipping into shadowy creases along her body. Santana hums thoughtfully and tips her head slightly to press her lips to Brittany's neck, feeling lips brush against her forehead in return. "Why did you want me to come out earlier in the year so badly then?" she finally asks. It's been something she's been wondering since that day in the middle of July when Brittany had fiercely promised her that she didn't care when Santana came out.

Brittany walks her fingers down Santana's bare arm as she thinks about Santana's question. Santana is patient and quiet against her, tracing circles on Brittany's hipbone with her thumb, slowly running her palm up to splay across Brittany's side and trace patterns in the spaces between her ribs before trailing fingers back down to her hipbone.

"I think," Brittany starts and then pauses, trying to organize her thoughts so they don't all jump out at once and confuse Santana. "I think I thought you were ashamed of loving me or something," she admits.

Santana takes a sharp breath but doesn't interrupt, giving Brittany long moments to think. "I know now that you weren't. You were just too scared to say it." Santana breathes deeply and nods softly against Brittany's shoulder. "I mean, I didn't know that then, but I do know. Blindside is twenty out of twenty and all that."

Santana pauses for a second to think. "Hindsight is 20/20?"

"Yeah, that!"

"I should've got that one faster," Santana chuckles and the sound sends vibrations across Brittany's neck. She grins up at the ceiling, marvelling, as she does every time, that she's in love with someone who always understands what she means to say.

"Well, it is like two in the morning or something," Brittany concedes, pressing her smile into Santana's hair. She's quiet for a moment before she continues, "I guess I started to think that you didn't love me the way I loved you and then _I_ got scared too. I mean, looking back on it I can't believe I ever thought you weren't in love with me too, you're kinda a ginormous sap about it, even if you're trying to deny it half a second later."

"Blindside and all that?" Santana teases softly, giggling and smiling into Brittany's neck.

Brittany giggles too, "Yeah, blindside and all that." Brittany snuggles further into her pillow, pulling Santana with her and sighing in contentment. "And then I thought you were ashamed of loving me or something, so I started thinking that if you admitted it to everyone you'd, I dunno, prove that you did really love me and weren't ashamed of it and I wouldn't have to be so scared that you didn't actually. Love me, I mean. You know?" Santana takes a moment to process everything and then nods, pursing her lips slightly to brush them against pulse point by her mouth. Brittany sighs and pauses in trailing her fingers up Santana's back, staring up at the ceiling. "It sounds dumb, I know—"

"No, Britt," Santana interrupts, her fingers curling around to cup Brittany's hipbone, her other hand scrunching in the fabric of Brittany's tank underneath her shoulder, her arm and hand squished between Brittany's back and the bed, clutching her even closer. "It's not dumb. I didn't exactly give you much reassurance on that front."

Brittany's quiet for a long moment, stroking her hand along the arm Santana has thrown across her stomach. "Well, we were both kinda dumb last year, weren't we?"

Santana laughs a little. "Yeah, I suppose we kinda were," she concedes. They lay there and listen to the other breath in comfortable silence until Santana breaks it, "Is that why you were so mad when I bailed on doing _Fondue for Two_ with you? Because you thought I was ashamed of you?" Santana pauses and swallows thickly, "Of us?"

"I wasn't mad," Brittany protests, and then laughs when Santana pinches her side. "Okay, maybe I was a _little_ mad at first, and then I was a little disappointed, but then after the whole thing with you fake-dating Karofsky and then with Kurt at the prom, I finally started to realize exactly what you were so scared of and why you wanted to keep hiding. And that you weren't ashamed of me or of loving me, just scared of everyone else. And I know you kinda told me that at the lockers but I didn't really get it at the time, but I do know."

"You're so smart, Britt-Britt," Santana sighs and, even after all this time, Brittany can feel a blush blossom across her cheekbones and her skin feels prickly-hot, but in a warm pleasant way like how homemade soup warms your mouth and stomach when you're sick, and with the way she feels a smirk curve along her shoulder Santana knows she's blushing.

"At first I did really want you to come out," Brittany continues, ignoring her prickly-hot skin and focusing on the blooming warmth in her stomach instead. Santana is quiet for a long moment and Brittany watches shadows dance across Santana's bedroom walls in the silence before she continues. "I thought that was the answer to all our problems, but then I realized I just wanted you to be yourself even if it wasn't out in the open."

"Yeah?" Santana whispers, her voice hopeful and soft and scared all at once.

"Yeah," Brittany agrees easily, trailing her fingers along Santana's spine and capturing a shiver against her palms. "I just wanted you to be happy and be the you that you always are around me. I wanted you to embrace all your awesomeness and stop hiding it from me." Brittany takes a deep breath and lets it out through her nose. "And stop hiding it from yourself."

Santana breathes against her shoulder, before detangling herself from Brittany just enough to prop herself up on her elbow and gaze down at Brittany. It's too dark for Brittany to make out her features but she can picture them as easily as if the room was bright with the light of the next morning already; dark brows drawn low and slightly upturned over deep, hopeful, soul-searching eyes, a slight pout to full lips, and face so open it would make Brittany's chest ache even more than it already is if she could fully see it.

"I'm still not ready to tell anyone else."

Brittany nods easily. "I know."

Santana is quiet for a long moment, staring down at Brittany in the darkness of the room. "But I don't want to hide it from us anymore."

Brittany smiles up at Santana, trailing her hands up Santana's sides and around and up to cradle her face. "I know that too." Brittany can feel Santana's skin shift and pull as a tiny smile spreads across her face.

"I'm gay," she says again.

"I know," Brittany replies, her own smile slowly spreading.

And then Santana's face is looming even closer and her lips are hovering above Brittany's own. "I'm gay," she repeats, her breath fanning across Brittany's face and filling her nose with the sharp scent of her mint toothpaste, "I'm gay and I like girls." Brittany's face stretches into a smile so big a sharp piercing pain shoots at the hinge of her jaw, right below her ears, like when she eats a sour candy and Santana says something that sends Brittany into a laughing fit, dulled both by the absence of sour candy and the presence of pure elation. It's insistent and a little painful and so, so, so happy. "I'm gay and I like girls, and I'm stupidly in love with _a_ girl," Santana says, and Brittany can feel Santana's cheeks stretch under her palms as a smile spreads wide across her face.

Brittany's never been more certain of herself than she is in this moment, mumbling her words against Santana's mouth around a wide smile.

"I know."

* * *

August is motionless and sticky-hot, broken only by thunderstorms that brew on the horizon in the late afternoon and crack thunder in the evening sunlight; it's the looming shadow of returning to school hanging as low and heavy as the thunderclouds above them, it's being caught in summer rain and shrieking with laughter as they race for the cover of the porch, soaked to the bone in seconds and giggling as they pull each other into a well-practiced dance to the music worn into their combined heartbeats.

* * *

"You were always right," Santana mumbles, naked and satisfied and nosing against the soft skin of Brittany's neck.

Brittany runs her hands down Santana's back, smiling into her dark hair as Santana shudders. "Of course I was," Brittany says, waiting until she feels Santana's smile against her skin to press a kiss to the crown of Santana's head. "About what?"

Santana giggles and curls her fingers over the jut of Brittany's hip, feeling liquid sunlight settle low in her stomach, before raising herself up on one elbow to gaze down at Brittany's face. Brittany's bangs have grown almost all the way out and Santana brushes the golden strands behind her ear and gets distracted by how blue Brittany's eyes are before she blinks and tries to remember what she was trying to say, ignoring Brittany's giggle with a fond roll of her eyes. "It is better when we aren't hiding our feelings," she admits, suddenly shy and ducking her head, before gathering the courage to meet Brittany's eyes, and the brightness there is enough to make Santana's breath catch.

Brittany is beaming, _beaming_ , up at her, eyes sparkling, bright and happy and adoring, nose crinkling adorably as her smile widens. "I love you so much," Brittany sighs, giving Santana no warning before she surges up to kiss her, which is little more than a press of two beaming smiles, all teeth and tongue and soft, soft lips.

Santana giggles into the kiss, that light and weightless and happy feeling settling more comfortably around her. That feeling her and Brittany had shared all summer had yet to disappear, like the sunshine and candy and toothpaste kisses of dusky evenings had burnt its way into Brittany's freckled skin and caught in Santana's sun lightened hair and stayed there long after the pink and orange and red sky was replaced with the inky, starlit night.

She pulls back slightly to pepper short, sweet kisses over Brittany's chin and jaw and nose, missing her mark more often than not as Brittany shakes with laughter beneath her. "You taste like raspberries," Santana mumbles into Brittany's skin somewhere between the jut of her jawline and the lobe of her ear. Brittany laughs harder and tightens her fingers around Santana's back, trailing one hand through her soft, dark hair, slightly frizzy from air drying after their shower earlier. Santana presses another trail of kisses from Brittany's ear, across a pink flushed cheekbone, on the two small moles beneath the corners of her right eye, on each of the freckles clustered against the bridge of her nose and on the fading ones on the tip, on the caramel mole at the corner of her mouth, and finally, _finally_ , on Brittany's soft lips, sucking the vanilla from her lip chap into Santana's own lips, into her own being. "I love you too," Santana mumbles against Brittany's vanilla lips, humming in contentment when Brittany trails her fingers down her back, pressing gently into each vertebrae, and twines their legs closer together.

Brittany hums against Santana's lips, fingers tracing patterns in the spaces between Santana's ribs and smoothing down her sides to tickle sharp hipbones before trailing back up to shoulder blades. Santana sighs into Brittany's mouth, trailing her lips away to pepper quick kisses along Brittany's chin and jawline before tracing a path back to soft, vanilla lips. Brittany smiles against Santana's lips when she starts to sifts around, struggling to adjust herself so she can hold her weight up and touch Brittany's skin too, eventually giving up with a huffing laugh that vibrates Brittany's lips, almost like she's blowing a raspberry, and Brittany's smile turns into giggles that Santana captures with her own smiling lips. She finally manages to wiggle her arms up so she can slide one hand under Brittany's shoulder blade, leaning all her weight on that arm so she can reach up to cup Brittany's cheek.

Brittany starts to giggle when Santana trails her lips back down to trace along her jawline and press butterfly kisses to her neck, when her laugh is interrupted by a yawn. Santana laughs against her neck, stifling her own returning yawn there with a wet kiss. "Tired, Britt-Britt?"

Brittany nods as Santana trails her lips back up to recapture hers, darting a tongue out to trace the full lips pressed against hers and pressing fingertips into the base of Santana's spine, grinning when she swallows Santana's gasp of surprise as she shivers.

"We should really go to sleep," Brittany eventually mumbles against Santana's lips, fighting from yawning into Santana's mouth because, while Santana would probably laugh about it, it does seem a little rude.

"Mmm," Santana agrees, nudging their noses together and pulling Brittany's bottom lip between her own.

"Santana," Brittany whines, her voice turning up sharply in a gasp when Santana's teeth nip at her bottom lip before a tongue darts out to soothe the pain. "We have to get up early for Cheerios camp and I don't wanna be sleepy."

"Mmm," Santana agrees again, but her lips remain pressed to Brittany's. Though instead of ignoring Brittany's warnings the kisses turn sweet and quick and chaste before Santana finally pulls back. "You're right again," she says with a soft smile.

"Of course I am," Brittany giggles and pulls Santana down to her, curling them into each other until legs and arms are so hopelessly tangled Brittany couldn't possibly figure out whose limbs are whose. They settle in the darkness of Brittany's bedroom, their ribs expanding and contracting together, stomachs and breasts and shoulders pressed together in the steady rhythm of the cyclic breathing filling the air. "Sweet dreams, Santana," she murmurs.

"Sweet dreams, Britt-Britt. I love you," Santana mumbles against Brittany's collarbone, already half-asleep and absolutely adorable.

Brittany feels that same blossoming feeling in her chest she feels whenever she looks at Santana balloon up throughout her limbs as she relaxes further into her best friend and the girl she loves more than she loves anything else in the entire world. She buries her face in dark hair and tightens her arms around the soft warmth burrowing into her body and presses kisses along a sloping hairline, craning her neck and shuffling until she can press her lips once more to the ones that feel like they were made for her own.

"I love you too, San."

* * *

August comes and goes in in the quiet moments, with fingers tangled together over the centre console and days spent sprawled over the duvet upside-down and right-side-up and head-to-feet and hips brushing underneath curious hands, with long talks about everything and nothing in the too loud hours between midnight and sunrise, with surprising courage in the shadow of an oak tree under fireworks sparking the night air in flashes of brilliance, with the time it takes to count the spaces between breathes as terror eases into _soon, I'll be there soon_ and nights spent whispering love that is no longer pushed aside or feared but spoken, aloud, at every possible moment, in words and kisses and morning coffees and afternoon naps and late night texts, with the simplicity of loving your best friend, in the way that it always has been, in hindsight.

* * *

"Aw c'mon guys, you can't leave me here alone with these nerds. Plus it's Lima's hundred-an-eightieth or some shit. Show some town pride."

"Fuck off, Puckerman."

Brittany giggles and bumps Santana's hip with hers as they walk away. "Be nice, Santana," she chides, only partially serious.

Santana huffs. "He's drunk," she offers.

"Still," Brittany teases, looping her arm through Santana's until their elbows lock as they head back to Santana's car on the other side of the park, hips bumping together with every step.

"Lopez!" Puck calls at their retreating backs, drawing out the vowels until it barely sounds like an actual word.

She uses the hand not caught with Brittany's to flip him off, not even glancing over her shoulder.

"Aw, San," Brittany says, making a put-upon sigh as she glances over her shoulder, "you made him pout."

Santana laughs and lifts her other hand to trace Brittany's knuckles until she's not twisting back to try and see Puck and most of the other glee club members anymore. "I'm immune to pouting," Santana says confidently.

A slow smirk spreads across Brittany's face as she looks down at Santana. "Is that so?" she asks, voice dropping to a honey-smooth husk. Brittany can feel Santana's shiver and catches a pink tongue darting out to wet full lips. Brittany's smirk spreads as they skirt some more drunk teenagers. "You wanna bet?"

"Uh, I, uh," Santana stutters, "no?"

"Why? Scared you'll lose?"

"What? No, of course not," she scoffs weakly.

Brittany lets her lips thin and sticks her bottom one out just a little bit, lowering her brows and dipping her head towards her chest before blinking slowly at Santana. "C'mon, San, I wanna make a bet."

Santana shakes her head and resolutely looks anywhere but at Brittany. "Nope, no way."

"Santana," Brittany pleads, and Santana's eyes dart quickly and automatically to Brittany's at the tone of her voice.

"Oh c'mon!" Santana complains, throwing her free arm out with mock-exasperation. "Fine, I can resist any pout but _yours_ and that's why I won't make a bet I know I'll lose. Happy?"

Brittany grins widely, tugging Santana the last couple feet to her car with a skip. "Yep!"

Santana rolls her eyes, but the smile dimpling her cheek makes it look adoring rather than annoyed. Santana opens Brittany's door for her, waiting until all her limbs are tucked in before closing the door, causing a blush to spread across Brittany's cheeks as she studies her hands in her lap with a goofy smile.

"That was fun!" she says when Santana gets in the car. "The fireworks were so pretty too! And it was really nice hanging out with everyone again."

Santana smiles as she starts the car, glancing at Brittany glowing in the streetlight a couple feet ahead of the car's hood. "Yeah, they were really pretty," she partially agrees before shoulder checking and pulling out onto the mostly deserted street.

Brittany fiddles with the radio, changing the station every time a commercial comes up, until a deep, heavy voice rasps over the speakers and Brittany grins widely, grabbing Santana's arm in excitement as she cranks the volume up to just a hair below too loud.

" _Ain't no doubt about it, we were doubly blessed. 'Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed,_ " Brittany sings loudly, voice skipping an octave higher than Meatloaf's raspy tenor as she starts dancing in her seat. She turns to Santana with a giggle. "My mom always makes us listen to the classic rock station whenever she drives," she explains.

Santana glances over at Brittany with a grin. "I know," she assures Brittany with a chuckle. "Remember how offended she was when I told her I had never heard _Bohemian Rhapsody_ before?"

"I don't think I've ever seen her so horrified before or since," Brittany agrees with a carefree laugh, releasing Santana's arm to take a sip of her milkshake. Santana ignores the empty warmth around her forearm where Brittany's fingers had been stroking gently to defend herself.

"It's not my fault _mi abuela_ only ever listened to boleros and Motown when I was young," Santana protests, but the grin across her face belies her attempts at defensiveness.

"Still."

"I was eight!"

"Still," Brittany repeats, dragging the word out until Santana laughs and swats at Brittany, who leans towards the window and shrieks with laughter as Santana's fingers dig into her ticklish ribs. The car swerves slightly towards the curb and Santana quickly leans back to straighten the vehicle back out, still giggling at the mock indignation on Brittany's face. "You'll pay for that," Brittany warns, but her voice gets all soft and squishy around the smile that splits her face.

Santana just grins at the road as Brittany makes a put-upon sigh, before just as quickly dancing in her seat again. " _And now our bodies are oh so close and tight_ ," Brittany leans towards Santana, her upper body hovering over the middle console as she sings obnoxiously into the imaginary microphone she holds close to Santana's face, her knuckles brushing against Santana's cheek. " _It never felt so good, it never felt so right_."

Santana is still laughing so hard her stomach twists and her cheeks ache as she tries to keep the car in a relatively straight line. They don't really have to worry because the road is deserted, with most of the town still hanging around Main Street or the parks for the parade after the fireworks, and neither of them even touched the alcohol Puck had brought because they promised to babysit Brittany's little sister tonight for the Pierce's bimonthly date night, but she'd really hate to give any cops that impression that she's drunk because it would completely ruin how happy and carefree and light she feels right now, with Brittany singing obnoxiously into her ear between giggles.

" _And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife_ ," Brittany sings and Santana giggles and pushes Brittany's face away from hers, " _We're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife._ " And then Brittany's voice changes, jumping up in volume and pitch as she taps out the drum beat against her thighs, her feet bouncing against the floor mat as she wiggles in her seat, her arms raised above her head and her shoulders shimmying, " _C'mon! Hold tight. Oh, c'mon. Hold tight_!" her voice jumps up again on the last line and cracks the single syllable into two in what is a hilariously accurate mocking of most of the glee boy's falsettos.

Santana laughs, too loud and too wild and happier than she's ever been; though she's sure that will change tomorrow because every time she's with Brittany she feels, impossibly, happier than the time before. The music breaks into a short instrumental and she takes the time between streetlights to glance over at Brittany, still dancing in her seat. Her twin braids are coming undone at the back from laying on the blanket to watch the fireworks, a red lipstick kiss stands stark against her pale freckled skin from where Santana had blushingly pressed her lips to the cheekbone a couple hours earlier when the urge had become too strong to ignore, her eyes flashing faintly in the greenish-blue light from the radio screen and lit up buttons on the car's dash when she glances over at Santana with a smile. Santana's breath catches somewhere in her chest and she glances back at the road, trying to ignore how distractingly pretty Brittany is and the pleasant twist in her stomach when she thinks of that soft, awed smile Brittany gave her after she kissed her cheek under fireworks painted against a starry sky, and of the pride that glinted in bright blue eyes when she realized Santana had barely glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. Residual fear churns in Santana's stomach, but listening to Brittany breathe beside her settles her nerves and, even that simple act of Brittany just _being_ beside her, brings a comfortable sense of calm to her body.

" _Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night,_ " Brittany sings, her voice softer with the weight of her gaze upon Santana's face. A smile twitches at the corners of Santana's lips as the streetlights paint the road in flashes of gold ahead of them, and it feels like they're the only two people in the world.

" _I can see paradise by the dashboard light,_ " Santana quietly continues when she hears Brittany's breath catch and fade on the last note. She glances over at the passenger seat again, catching eyes that are impossibly soft. The streetlight they drive under paints Brittany's face in a brief flash of warmth, her features drawn together in that same soft and awed look from earlier in the night when she felt Santana's lips brush against her skin. Santana looks back to the road and swallows past the sudden tightness in her throat, before dropping her right hand from the steering wheel to the console, palm up, and glancing over at Brittany with a warm smile, her left cheek dimpling in the golden glow of a streetlight. Brittany's face, impossibly, seems to soften even more at the offered hand, and she makes a small noise of contentment in the back of her throat.

" _Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night,_ " they sing together, their voices harmonizing higher than Meatloaf's rasp, slightly out of key and perfect, " _In the deep dark night._ " Brittany's fingers slide easily between Santana's and tighten, her thumb rubbing across the fleshy juncture where Santana's thumb turns into her first finger.

Santana glances at Brittany again, her features painted again in the greenish-blue of the lights on the car's dash, and their eyes catch and hold, smiles relaxed and soft and crinkling sparkling eyes, fingers intertwined and palms fitting together as easily as they have since they were both tiny five years old with toothy grins and gleaming eyes.

" _Paradise by the dashboard light_."

* * *

Summer comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the sweet scent fresh-cut grass filling the neighbourhood and the chlorine-salt of pool water rushing up noses and burning like the first breath of winter air, with the courage that comes from summer nights and late mornings and long hours of moonlit bedrooms, with sleepy moments of loving kisses and giggles and _I love you's_ breathed against the shells of ears and pressed softly into palms and knuckles and bellybuttons, with courage filled kisses and gentle hands cupping cheeks in _I know, thank you, I love you too_.

It's at the end of the summer that Santana offers Brittany her hand without fear.

* * *

 _"I want to tell you a secret and I want you to listen with your lips_

 _I want my hands on your hips like they were their final resting place_

 _And then put that funeral onto paper so you can trace their lifetime back to the fact_

 _That I'm more inclined to find a place in your heart to haunt for as long as you want me to._

 _Lady, I'll rattle chains up and down the halls of you."_

* * *

Summer is a new beginning unfurling underneath sternums and blossoming up into blushing smiles.

It's kisses that taste of chlorine and strawberries and carefree youth, where they can just be the them that they never are at school as summer opens itself to a brand new start.

* * *

It's the end of summer that Santana offers Brittany her hand without fear.

* * *

August comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's motionless and sticky-hot, broken only by rain-soaked rain sticking to cheeks as bodies move to the beat of their hearts.

* * *

July comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's lazy days, sprawling on beds and in backyard grass and under the shade of an old oak tree where kid-stupid courage pressed lips together for the very first time.

* * *

June comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's weekend sleepovers, the return of linked pinkies in the hallways and glee club practice and in the second row of history class and giggling against shaking shoulders.

* * *

Summer comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's fresh-cut grass and chlorine-salt water, sleepy courage and soft _I love you's_ and _I love you too's_ around the radio's quiet singing _"I can see paradise by the dashboard light."_

* * *

It's at the start of summer that Brittany offers her hand to Santana without fear.

* * *

 _"I want you to want me to be the me that you see when I'm free to be the me that got you next to me_

 _And as for romance, well, I want that too_

 _I want to fall asleep next to you one hundred times a night so that I can know you one hundred times better before we hit the day light_

 _And in spite of all of this, I also want amnesia_

 _So that I can relive each kiss with a perfect newness that leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture_

 _I want the sky to fracture under the impossible weight of an apology_

 _'Cause I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I want so much_

 _I'm sorry that I've been using 'I'm sorry' as a crutch to lean on for so long_

 _But if you sing me that song of sweet logic again_

 _Then I promise to make the effort to stand on my own."_

* * *

 _"Why don't you wear your glasses?"_

 _Santana jumps and bangs her knees on the bottom of her desk, muttering under her breath before glaring up at the speaker. Her glare fades when she looks up into blue eyes so bright she feels her stomach twist, like that moment right before her papi catches her after tossing her into the sunlight, like that brief moment where she's suspended against the sky with nothing but endless possibilities around her while she flies against the summer sky._

 _"Huh?" she manages to ask._

 _The girl grins down at her brightly, but then her eyebrows draw together in confusion, or at least Santana thinks they do, it's hard to see them under her blonde bangs. "I asked why you don't wear your glasses?"_

 _Santana swallows nervously and shifts in her seat, carefully not looking into her desk where she knows the black frames rest. "I don't have glasses," she lies easily, but only because she's staring at a freckled nose and not into blue eyes._

 _The girl frowns a little, her mouth pulling into a thin line and turning slightly down at the corners. "Sure you do. You always wear them on the bus here and home."_

 _Santana's eyes dart up to blue again and she breathes in sharply through her nose. The girl still looks confused, still pouting a little, and Santana deflates, slouching in her seat. "They make me look dumb," she mumbles._

 _The girl tips her head to the side, thoughtful and confused and earnest, "I think they make you look really smart and pretty."_

 _Santana's face feels like when she sits too close to the campfire at her cousin's house outside of town and she furiously scrubs at her heated cheeks, trying to rub the burning away. "Yeah well," she finally says._

 _The girl still looks confused and a little bit sad but then she brightens and smiles around it, her eyes shining a little bit and crinkling at the corners. "I'm Brittany," she offers._

 _Santana looks up at the girl and manages a small smile, which causes Brittany's smile to widen and her eyes to scrunch mostly closed so they look almost like diamonds. "I'm Santana."_

 _The teacher comes in and tells everyone to take their seats, and Santana expects Brittany to go back to sitting at the front in the seat she claimed on the first day of kindergarten three days ago. Instead, Brittany walks around the desks and flops into the empty one beside Santana, all the way at the back of the classroom where the words on the board are far away and more than a little fuzzy without her glasses._

 _"What are you doing?" Santana hisses._

 _Brittany smiles brightly at her. "If you aren't going to wear your glasses then you can't read the board and then you'll get in trouble with the teacher again for not paying attention even though you are but you just can't answer right because you can't see."_

 _Santana nods uncertainly. "Yeah, but," she starts and then doesn't know what else to say._

 _"So," Brittany continues, dragging the word out until it doesn't even sound like a word anymore and Santana giggles a little. Brittany smiles, proud of herself and bouncing slightly in her seat, and leans closer to Santana, whispering like they're sharing a secret, "I'll sit beside you."_

 _"Why?" Santana can't help but ask, equally as quietly._

 _"So I can whisper what the words say to you without the teacher noticing, silly," Brittany says easily._

 _Santana's jaw slackens as she stares at Brittany grinning beside her before she snaps her mouth closed with a quiet click of teeth. "Thank you," Santana finally murmurs while the teacher starts talking at the front of the classroom._

 _"What are friends for?" Brittany whispers back with a wide, toothy grin, her eyes turning into diamonds again._

 _Santana swallows thickly and smiles shyly back at Brittany. "Friends," she repeats softly._

 _Brittany doesn't answer, just smiles gently at her before murmuring the words the teacher writes on the whiteboard into Santana's ear._

 _Santana is able to follow along with the lesson for the first time in three days, and even when the teacher scolds her and Brittany for giggling halfway through the lesson the smile doesn't fall from Santana's face until the bell rings for recess. When Brittany stands, Santana is sure she's is going to leave to go play with her other friends, but then she turns back to Santana and tips her head, staring down at her as her blonde hair swings forward to cover her shoulder._

 _"It's recess," Brittany says quietly, her face twisted in confusion again._

 _"Yeah," Santana agrees, "I thought you were going to play with your friends."_

 _"How would I play with my friends if you stay at your desk for recess?"_

 _"Yeah but—" Santana stops and swallows her words before smiles hesitantly up at Brittany. "What do you wanna play?"_

 _"We could play house," Brittany squeals, bouncing up on her toes and beaming down at Santana._

 _Santana frowns and thinks of her own family. "We don't have a papi," she finally says uncertainly._

 _Brittany frowns for a brief second and something deep in Santana's stomach twists at the pout on Brittany's face. She's about to take it back when Brittany's whole face lights up again. "One of us could be a papi!" she says, bouncing._

 _Santana has to tip her head back to see all of Brittany's face. "But we're not boys," Santana says carefully._

 _Brittany's grin doesn't fade and Santana feels her face get too hot, like her skin can't contain herself. "Then we can both be mommys," she says easily. Santana looks down at her feet and scuffs one shoe against the tiled floor, rubbing a faded black mark along the tiles with an arc of her foot. "C'mon," Brittany prompts, offering her hand to Santana. Santana stares at it for a long moment, and then around the classroom as if she's afraid of getting in trouble with their teacher ushering students out the door or with their classmates as they pull on jackets and outdoor shoes, and then up at Brittany's freckled, beaming face, her blue eyes still sparkling brightly._

 _"Okay," Santana says simply, and she takes Brittany's hand._

* * *

It's on the first Thursday of September that Brittany offers Santana her hand for the very first time.

It's on the first Thursday of September that Santana takes Brittany's hand for the very first time.

* * *

It's at the start of the summer that Brittany offers Santana her hand without fear.

It's at the end of the summer that Santana offers Brittany her hand without fear.


	2. somewhere along the way we must grow up

**Notes: It's even longer than the last one whoops. I blame rewatching Mash Off before I did the November part because that section alone is almost 6,500 words, so, you know, whoops again.**

 **Title and excerpts from "More Often than Sometimes" by Shane Koyczan.**

* * *

 _Chapter 2: somewhere along the way we must grow up, not perfect, but up and out_

* * *

 _"We lived like two games of solitaire waiting to be played by one another._

 _Her mother once asked me, 'Do you love her?'_

 _And I said if there were one million teachers breathing down my neck_

 _Telling me the answer is 'no,'_

 _I would say 'yes.'_

 _I guess that was enough for her."_

* * *

Autumn is the dwindling evening sunlight caught in blonde eyelashes and fading freckles, and it's the feeling of apple cider slipping down throats and settling with comforting warmth in bellies shaking with laughter. It's golden leaves sticking in hair as dark as the midnight sky, and it's air so crisp it steals the breath from lungs already longing for oxygen between stolen kisses. It's the scent of dying things and ripe earth and new beginnings hanging heavy in the air, and it's lingering hands and fingers and kisses as bravery grows and swells until it's almost overwhelming with a need to confess, and then it's the violent fracture of that courage by an outside force, like a frost covered branch breaking under the oppressive cold with an echoing _snap_. It's fear so thick that it's choking, caught against a throat that struggles to breathe again as everything crumbles into dust until it's just them, standing among trees bare of their colours, painted new in the softness of the first snow.

Autumn is the time when they hold their breath, and when they work to pick up all the discarded pieces of each other that their classmates carelessly rip off with all the oblivious self-absorption of teenagers. Autumn is the time where they nurture the other's courage. Autumn is the time when they fall more in love with each other everyday with the very same bravery of each leaf falling from a tree in search of a new beginning.

It's at the start of autumn that Brittany finally lets go of her fear.

* * *

"You're taking your sister shopping for school supplies and that's final."

Brittany wants continue to whine her complaints, but with the look in her mom's eyes just _daring_ her to object, and the fact that Brittany rather values her life, she decides to just grumble her ascent and grab her keys, spinning on her heel and calling for her sister to hurry her butt up.

"My butt's on its way!" her sister calls back down the stairs, which Brittany knows means she's got at least fifteen more minutes to kill before they'll be out the door. Brittany rolls her eyes and plops down on the living room couch, stretching her legs out and mindlessly pulling her phone out to text Santana that she's going to be late.

Her phone dings almost instantly, and the goofy grin that spreads across her face when Santana's name precedes her text message is something that can't be helped. She's tried to suppress it, for years really, but, especially since the start of the summer, it's been more or less physically impossibly for her to _not_ smile every time Santana texts her or calls her or drops by unexpectedly or does anything, really, like breathes; or anytime Brittany, like, you know, thinks of Santana.

 _The munchkin?_ Santana's text reads.

 _Who else?_ Brittany responds.

Brittany only has enough time to open her sudoku puzzle app before a new message dings at the top of her screen. _Lol that's true. Text me when you guys are on your way_. And then another message dings, _Hurry though. My mom's driving me up the wall with her worrying about what I need for senior year._

Brittany grins and quickly types her response, _The mini-me still isn't dressed._

 _Well fuck._ Brittany giggles and stays on her message app instead of switching back to her sudoku, waiting for the next text she knows will be coming. _I'll probably have lost my mind by the time you get here._

 _So dramatic_ , Brittany types, and then, _Though I'll still love you even if you lose your mind. Like when you're old and senile and only have one tooth and can only hobble around._

There's a small lull and Brittany switches over to her sudoku while she waits for Santana's next text. She doesn't disappoint, responding with, _Come on Britt-Britt, we'd be the hottest grandma's in the old folks home._ Brittany's smile grows until her face can barely contain her happiness, squishing her cheeks until they start to ache with the weight of the joy bubbling and blooming under her sternum, her phone forgotten on her stomach as she buries her face in her hands. Her phone dings again and she manages to compose herself enough to pick up her phone again. _I'll still love you when you're old and senile too._

Brittany's cheeks are really starting to complain about the force of her smile, but she can't quite care because she just so happens to be hopelessly in love with the best, sweetest, dearest, most adorable person in the history of entire world. Brittany quickly types out _Xoxo_ and sends it, instantly receiving the same in response, and her smile stays glued to her face as she finishes a couple sudoku's, and it stays there even when her dad wanders into the living room and teases her about it, and it stays there even when her sister takes a running jump at the couch and knocks all the breath out of her.

"Britty!" her sister screams somewhere near her ear.

Brittany rolls her eyes fondly, smile still frozen as she sucks in deep breaths. "Yo, lil' sis, you're breaking me."

"Sorry, Britty," Brittany hears mumbled into her ear, more subdued as her sister shifts around and curls her sprawled form around Brittany in a apologetic hug, no longer crushing her lungs. "Who're you texting?" she asks.

"No one, half-pint," Brittany says, ruffling her sister's head and earning a giggling swat. "I was doing sudoku."

"No," her sister whines, "I mean earlier. When you were giggling."

"Sudoku is very funny," Brittany deadpans.

"Britty," another annoyed whine, a pause, and then, "Was it Santana?"

Brittany laughs because, for being nine years old, her sister is smarter than most of the high schoolers she knows. "Yeah, it's Santana. How'd you know?"

"'Cause I could hear you smiling from the hallway."

Brittany laughs again because, well, she's probably not wrong. "Come on, we still gotta pick Santana up and we're already late."

Her sister jumps off Brittany and the couch immediately. "San's coming!" she shouts. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have been ready ages ago!"

Brittany rolls her eyes and allows herself to be pulled to her feet and towards the door, her sister jumping around and excitedly chattering the whole way. Brittany helps her sister tie her shoes and boops her on the nose before chasing her out to her car. She clambers into the backseat, behind the passenger seat, and Brittany has to interrupt her rambling twice before she finally buckles her seatbelt around herself. Brittany rolls her eyes fondly and backs out of the driveway, occasionally answering her sister's questions whenever she pauses for enough of a breath to allow Brittany to actually speak.

They're about half way to Santana's when her sister settles and quiets for a couple blocks, studying the back of Brittany's ear with an intensity that's usually reserved for playing on her DS. "Do you have a crush on Santana?" her sister finally asks, her voice high and quiet with reserved innocence.

Brittany glances at her sister in the rearview mirror where she's kicking her legs against the passenger seat in front of her and staring thoughtfully at her older sister. Brittany thinks of Santana and wonders if she'd freak out. She's been better about the idea of other people knowing about them with each passing day, but it's one of those things that's quiet and careful with a couple steps forward and a couple steps back. Like how Santana held her hand in the empty aisle at the grocery store last week when they were picking up movie snacks, but dropped it like it burned her and darted about six feet away when an old man shuffled past the end of the aisle. Like how Brittany could tell Santana's heart pounded loud and fast just by the wide, dark eyes that caught on her own, and how Santana closed her eyes with a murmured _Sorry_ and bought Brittany an extra box of Dots as an apology. Like how Brittany assured her it was okay because it's a lot like dancing, going a couple steps forward and a couple steps back, and because, in the end, it means you're still moving towards something. Like how Santana looked a little breathless and a little teary and a little like she really wanted to kiss Brittany from that moment and for forever, and like how, later on Santana's bed, Santana did kiss her for really long time, tasting of fear and hope and candy.

Santana's been getting better, but it's still a slow and steady process, like hiking up a mountain. Or at least, Brittany thinks hiking a mountain is slow and steady, she's never actually done that before, and for all she knows you're supposed to sprint up a mountain, but that seems ridiculous and hard, so Brittany figures slow and steady makes more sense.

"Britty?"

Brittany blinks and catches curious eyes in the rearview mirror. She thinks of Santana's panic over small things like people looking at them when they stand too close, and tries to answer her sister honestly while keeping Santana protected from her own fear. "Why do you think I have a crush on her?"

Her sister shrugs and goes back to kicking her legs against the seat. "I dunno. You smile a lot when she's around, and even when she's not around and you're just texting her. And you sing a lot of love songs in the shower. And you always buy her candy when you take me to the store. And you say her name differently than mommy and daddy do."

"What do you mean different?" Brittany asks, curious about it because her sister is pretty smart.

Her sister shrugs again. "I dunno," she repeats, "Just different. It's like you're trying to keep her name safe from all the bad things."

"Huh," Brittany manages to say, her heart pounding in a hundred different ways.

"So I was wondering if you had a crush on her," her sister continues, "'cause you're always smiling and mushy around her."

Brittany swallows and glances at her sister in the review mirror again as she waits at a stoplight, weighing her options, before settling on a partial truth. "I do have a crush on her, but you can't tell anyone. Especially her, okay?"

Her sister turns dark eyes on her thoughtfully. "I thought you are always supposed to tell people when you love them in case they forget. That's what daddy always says."

Brittany nods as she pulls into Santana's driveway. Santana's mom's car is gone, so Brittany assumes she must have left for work already. "That's true, lil' sis," Brittany finally agrees, "but sometimes you have to be careful not to scare the people you love by moving too fast."

"Oh."

Brittany can tell that her sister doesn't really get it, so she tries for another approach that used to be true but definitely isn't anymore. "Think of it this way, I don't know if Santana has a crush on me too, so I'm waiting until I know for sure."

Her sister's face clears and she nods in acceptance. "It's okay, Britty, I think I get it," she assures, her features painted in earnestness, "But I think Santana has a crush on you too 'cause she's smiley and mushy like you are whenever she's over at our house."

Brittany bites down on her lip to keep the wide smile threatening her contained. "Thanks, lil' sis," Brittany finally manages, "I think she might too."

Her sister starts kicking at the passenger seat again and hums along to the radio so Brittany takes that as her cue to grab her phone and text Santana that they're here. Brittany doesn't get a response for one and a half songs, long enough for Santana to have got a reminder notification if she didn't hear it the first time. Long enough for Brittany to feel a seed of worry take root in her stomach and her to send another text to Santana.

It's only seconds later when she gets a reply, and all it reads is _Britt_ and the seed of worry starts to bloom.

"Come one, lil' sis," Brittany says, rolling up the front windows before shutting the car off and pulling the keys out, frowning at the phone in her hands, "You can watch cartoons for a bit, I've gotta talk to Santana alone."

Her sister sighs and whines and grumbles but shuts up quick when Brittany promises to take her out for ice cream after they pick up their school supplies. Brittany gets out of the car and waits for her sister to stumble out too before she locks it and jogs up to Santana's front door. It's open, so she doesn't even have to use the spare key on her keychain, and she knocks as she opens the door. "Santana," she calls cautiously, "it's me. Are you in here?"

"In the kitchen," is the muffled reply she gets.

"I'll be right there," Brittany calls, something like worry churning her stomach. The kitchen is at the back of the house, so Brittany sits her sister down on the couch in the living room right off the front entrance, turning on the television and switching to cartoons that her sister happily watches, snuggled into the arm of the couch and tugging the throw blanket over her shoulders. Brittany turns and heads down the hallway with the bathroom and closet and stairs to the basement until she reaches the dining room off the kitchen, her heart thudding and all her nerves tingling with growing concern as she follows the quiet sniffling.

Santana is standing at the sink, staring vacantly out the window into the backyard. She looks smaller than usual, her toes pressed towards each other and her shoulders rounded forwards, water and soap suds dripping to her elbows as she mechanically scrubs at a plate that looks like it's been clean for a while.

"Santana?" Brittany murmurs. Santana doesn't respond to her, so Brittany tiptoes forwards, grabbing the dish towel off the stove handle and stepping up to Santana's body. Santana jerks and jumps in surprise when she feels the length of Brittany's body press against hers, tense for a moment before she melts into Brittany's body. "Santana?" Brittany tries again, and this time Santana nods in acknowledgement, half turning her head towards Brittany, dark eyes wide and fearful, tears gathered among her lower eyelashes. Something deep below Brittany's sternum aches as she reaches around Santana and feels how cold the smaller girl is. Brittany tightens her arms around Santana's body until their biceps are flush, taking the plate from Santana's trembling fingers and placing the dish back into the sink, gently drying Santana's hands and arms with the dish towel. She tosses the towel onto the counter and wraps her self more fully around Santana, strapping her arms against Santana's stomach and resting her chin on a rounded shoulder, pressing butterfly kisses to Santana's neck and the bottom of her jaw, trying to envelope Santana in her warmth.

Santana makes a small noise in the back of her throat and melts back into Brittany, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply through her nose. Brittany continues to pepper kisses against Santana's chilled skin, dancing her fingers along Santana's stomach and sides and hoping to take everything that's hurting Santana away with just her touch. She knows she can't because she's tried for almost twelve years and it's never really worked before, Santana's demons always seem to stubbornly cling and drip from her shoulders; but Brittany also knows that her hugs make them stop bothering Santana for a while, and so she hugs Santana as tight as she can and keeps pressing kisses to every inch of skin she can reach.

"Santana?" Brittany asks again.

"Thank you, Britt-Britt," Santana mumbles. Brittany's not sure what she's thanking her for, but she nods against Santana's neck and shoulder and squeezes Santana's sides. Santana takes a deep breath. "I just— My mom was all over me for what I need for school supplies and I just— I think today's the first day I've really thought about how we're going back to school and how— How the summer's ending."

Brittany knows there's something more to this than Santana being sad about the end of warm weather and late nights and homework free days. Brittany presses her lips to Santana's skin again and thinks of everything they've done over the summer, and everything that happened the last year, and then it's all so clear to Brittany. "You're worried that things won't be like this anymore, that we won't be the same," she realizes, "That we'll lose the summer feeling."

Santana swallows and closes her eyes before she gives a tiny nod. "I just— We're going back to school and I have no clue what we're going to do or how we should act because I'm still so fucking scared and I'm not ready for everybody to know yet and even if we're back on the Cheerios it won't protect us from all the things people will say or do and I—" Santana bites off the rest of her sentence, breathing heavily, hands closing over the pale arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. "I'm not ashamed of loving you, but I just— I can't deal with everyone yet. I can't deal with everyone knowing and judging and thinking that they know us when I know they wouldn't understand, or even try to and I just— I _can't_. And I don't know what to do about it."

"Santana," Brittany murmurs against her neck, and it's that one word that causes Santana to snap. She spins around and buries her teary face into Brittany's neck. Brittany smooths her hands up and over Santana's back, murmuring soothing nonsense into the dark hair pressed against her face, lips brushing the shell of Santana's ear. She keeps up her stream of reassuring words, barely even knowing what she's saying, only that her own heart aches in the face of Santana's anguish and uncertainty; all she really knows is that she'd do just about anything to bring Santana's smile back. After long moments of listening to Santana sob against her neck, and Brittany desperately trying to calm the storm rushing through Santana's chest and tearing the girl she loves to shreds, Santana pulls back, hiccuping and sniffling. Her nose is red and running, her mascara has collected under her eyes in trails watery ink down her cheeks, and her eyes are bloodshot, but she gives Brittany a tiny, teary smile and Brittany's sure she's never looked more beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Santana rasps, voice hoarse from her sobs.

Brittany's breath catches and she tightens her arms around Santana again, pulling her back to her chest and twisting her neck so she can pepper kisses over Santana's skin again. "Tana, you don't have to be sorry for being a human."

"I know," Santana mumbles somewhere between Brittany's shoulder and chest, "I just— I dunno."

Brittany hums against Santana, running her hands up and down and around Santana's back. "I know, sweetie, I know."

Santana sighs and Brittany can feel the shape of her smile press against her collarbone in a kiss. "Thanks, Britt. I love you."

"I love you too, Santana," Brittany responds instantly. The words that used to scare her so because she worried it would send Santana running are now the easiest in the world; her sister was right earlier, you should tell people when you love them as often as you can because sometimes they need to be reminded of how easy they are to love. Santana pulls back and laughs a little at herself, wiping at her cheeks with embarrassed fingers until Brittany _tuts_ and bats her hands away, carefully catching mascara on her thumbs and cleaning away all evidence of Santana's tears until all that's left is a sheepish smile and bright, dark eyes.

"Hi," Santana whispers.

Brittany giggles and trails her hands from Santana's cheeks, along her neck and across her shoulders and down her arms until she can tangle their hands together between their bodies. "Hi," she whispers back.

Santana's smile shrinks just a tiny bit but she seems a little softer now, like the storm inside her calmed back down again. "What do we do at school, Brittany?"

Brittany runs her thumb over the back of Santana's hand, tracing the play of muscle over bones, kneading the clever strength residing in the hands of the girl Brittany loves so much. "We'll just be us."

Santana looks up at Brittany, helpless and pleading, and Brittany can see the fear still swimming in dark, midnight eyes. "Britt," she rasps.

Brittany curls towards Santana until their foreheads are pressed together, fingers still tangled together between their bodies and toes nudging against each other. "We'll just be us," Brittany repeats, patient and sure, "We'll just be us like how we've been all summer. Quiet and in love."

Santana searches bright blue eyes for a long moment, and Brittany watches as the flighty thing swimming in Santana's eyes eases and disappears until all that's left is hope and love. Santana smiles, her mouth quirking up to the side until Brittany's favourite dimple appears and creases Santana's cheeks. "You so smart, Britt-Britt," Santana breathes, and Brittany feels that too-warm-for-her-own-skin feeling bloom across her cheeks and down her neck, the same feeling that spreads every time Santana says that in her most confidant and awed voice. She glances away, feeling too full with Santana looking at her like that. "No, really, Britt-Britt," Santana insists, tugging on their tangled hands until Brittany meets her eyes again. "You're the wisest person I've ever met."

"Really?" Brittany can't help it when her voice turns up and questioning and unsure.

"Really really," Santana promises. "You always know just the right thing to say to me no matter what I'm feeling, and you always know exactly how to make me laugh and feel loved. No one else can do that, Britt. You're a genius."

Brittany smiles and nudges her nose against Santana's, brushing their lips together and savouring the warmth pooling in her stomach. For perhaps the first time, she doesn't see images of past report cards or disappointed teachers flash before her, and she smiles, nudging her nose against Santana's. Santana rises up on her toes to brush their lips together, tugging on their hands and pulling Brittany even closer to her. "Thank you," Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips.

Santana trails quick kisses across Brittany's lips and along her chin and jaw before pulling back just enough to look into Brittany's eyes. "No, thank _you_ , Miss Smarty-pants," she says, smile wide and eyes sparkling. With a look like that, so honest and sure and full of love, Brittany can't help but believe what Santana says, and the only thing she can do is press her lips against Santana's again, untangling their hands so she can wrap her arms around Santana's neck and shoulders and melt their bodies into one.

Every time she thinks she couldn't possibly love Santana anymore than she already does, Santana says something like that or smiles at her or tells her _I'll still love you when you're old and senile too,_ and Brittany feels her stomach swoop like the moment of suspended time right before a rollercoaster peaks and plummets, like she's falling a little bit more in love with Santana once again.

Brittany pulls back and kisses the tip of Santana's nose before winding their hands together again, her left in Santana's right, and tugging her out of the kitchen. "C'mon, San, the munchkin is impatient for your company."

Santana giggles and allows herself to be pulled towards the living room, where she's attacked with hugs from both of her favourite Pierces.

* * *

September is warm and cool, summer in the curling gold of sunbeams and winter in the heavy chill of shade; it's continuing to love each other in the warm darkness behind bedroom doors and beginning to love each other in the florescent light of high school classrooms, it's shade where midnight hair bobs up on tiptoes to kiss summer back into freckled cheeks and pink lips, and it's in the sun where hands brush and pinkies link and elbows lock against the changing gold of autumn and the dusty textbooks of classrooms.

* * *

The summer sun fades but the summer feeling stays, just as Brittany promised it would. Santana doesn't even pretend to look at boys because she's too busy smiling her Brittany-smile at Brittany every time she sees her in the hallway, the one that crinkles her eyes and scrunches her nose and dimples her cheeks and makes a million butterflies take flight inside Brittany's stomach. Brittany can tell Santana's growing braver everyday because, even on the first day of school, she links their elbows together in the cafeteria, and she dances with her in glee and on tables and at Cheerios practice, and when she gets to the cafeteria first she buys lunch for Brittany and always remembers to put extra cherry tomatoes on her salad. Brittany _knows_ Santana is making progress, slow and steady, but still forward and determined. She knows Santana is making progress which is why Brittany hates it whenever someone unintentionally, or sometimes intentionally, stomps all over that progress.

It's why Brittany hates it when Santana's kicked out of glee club, she _hates_ it not just because they can't sit in the back and cuddle like they always do, but because Mr. Schue can't see that Coach made Santana do it, even when Santana says "Sue made me." She hates it because Brittany is lonely in glee club even surrounded by everyone and she hates it because no one listens to Santana even though she's almost always completely honest and she hates it because Santana seems to retreat back into that head cheerleader she was last year who got mean when she got scared and she hates it because Santana's trying so hard to be brave for her but everyone keeps knocking her back down just as she's getting up and she hates it because Mr. Schue and Rachel and Finn and everyone don't understand how much Santana _needs_ their acceptance and she _hates it, she hates it, she hates it._

But despite all of the fear and the rejection, Santana still smiles her Brittany-smile every time she sees, and she still links their elbows and pinkies together, and she still makes sure to get extra cherry tomatoes when she buys Brittany's lunch, and she offers to help make Kurt's campaign posters, and she doesn't even flinch when they spend their free period putting up bright pink, rainbow covered posters in the hallways where everyone can see. And Brittany is so, so, so proud of Santana that she tries to show her at every possible second, in notes passed and secret kisses and linked pinkies and after school cuddles and goodnight texts.

Brittany knows that Santana's making progress, but she also knows that everything with Santana is a couple steps forward and a couple steps back, like doing a waltz, which is actually something she really likes doing with Santana too, especially in one of their kitchens, late at night and in socked feet, dancing to the sounds of their giggling instead of actual music. And since Brittany knows that Santana's making progress, it's so easy to be patient and understanding because it just feels like they're still moving towards something better, and it's why she doesn't panic anymore whenever Santana panics, because instead of turning away from Brittany she turns towards her.

And it's why, when Santana calls her at quarter to eleven on a Tuesday night, her quiet and subdued voice quickly turning teary and gasping, Brittany doesn't hesitate to throw on some sweatpants and a hoodie and grab her car keys off her dresser and tiptoe through her house towards the front door; it's why she knows that Santana needs her and won't push her away anymore.

"Where do you think you're going, missy?"

Brittany freezes, her phone still in hand, Santana breathing harshly in her ear, and turns away from the front door. Her mom stands at the entry to the kitchen, hands on hips and patented mom-glare in place. "Santana, honey," Brittany murmurs into her phone, "I need to talk to my mom quickly but stay on the phone, okay?"

She waits until Santana mumbles her ascent to pull her phone from her ear and press the speaker to her shoulder. Her mom waits expectantly and Brittany puts on her best pleading look to explain herself, "I was going to go to Santana's."

"At ten forty on a school night?" her mom asks skeptically, "I don't think so."

"Mom," Brittany begs, taking a step towards her, "she's in one of her panics." Her mom's face softens, just a little bit, and Brittany takes another step forward, hoping that her mom will understand how much Santana needs her right now. "Her mom's out of town this week so she's all alone and I just— She sounded really scared and I can't— I can't just leave her there alone when I know I can help her."

Her mom sighs and stares at Brittany for a long moment, searching Brittany's face, before nodding her consent. "Drive careful, sweetie. And give her a hug from me too." Brittany nods frantically and leaps at her mom, pulling her into a tight hug and mumbling her thanks, before turning and shoving her feet into her sneakers and rushing out the door. "Be home before midnight," her mom calls from the doorway. Brittany raises a hand in a wave to indicate she heard before getting into her car.

She lifts the phone back to her ear. Santana is still breathing harshly and Brittany swears she hears a little sniffle because her heart practically cracks in two at the tiny noise. "Santana? I'm on my way, okay? I'll be there in five minutes but I can't talk and drive." Santana makes a small noise, though whether it's in acknowledgement or protest Brittany is not quite sure. "I'm going to put my phone on speaker and put it in the cupholder, okay?" she continues. "That way you'll still be able to hear me." Santana makes another noncommittal sound.

Brittany narrates her trip to Santana's house, hoping Santana is listening. The streetlights paint her dashboard in flashes of gold, and she tells Santana about the sketchy guys in hoodies a couple blocks from Santana's house, and about the clouds that drift in front of the silvery moon and cast the neighbourhood in darker shadows, and the dog barking at her car that she thinks might be a golden retriever or a yellow lab or maybe a chihuahua because she's not really good at recognizing dog barks.

By the time she pulls into Santana's driveway and shuts her car off, putting her phone back against her ear, Santana seems to have calmed a little. Her breathing isn't too loud and too harsh anymore, and the sniffles have stopped, and she finally speaks when Brittany tells her she's here.

"You should re-lock the door after you come in," Santana says, her voice lower and raspier than usual. "There's been a bunch of break-ins a couple streets over."

"I don't know how to lock doors," Brittany deadpans, delighting in the small giggle she receives.

"Brittany," Santana whines, but there's a smile in her voice and Brittany grins as she flips through her keys for Santana's house key, the one with a heart painted in red nail polish so she doesn't forget where her heart's home is.

Brittany keeps her voice monotone as she fiddles with the key in the lock. "Actually, unlocking doors is pretty weird too. Maybe I'll just wait out here all night and stare at the lock." She twists her wrist and pushes the door open, stepping into the lonely, cold house. She kicks her shoes off and bumps the door closed with her hip, flipping the deadbolt back shut with a quiet click that sounds too-loud in the silent house. "I'll just stare at the lock and hope it opens, you know? Just will it to unlock itself."

"Britt-Britt," Santana whines again, but this time Santana's voice is more giggle than not, and Brittany smiles as she heads down the stairs to the basement.

"I think I need to stare at the lock in silence though, so goodnight," she says, not waiting for Santana's answer before she hangs up.

Santana's bedroom door swings open before Brittany reaches it. She's in sleep shorts and Brittany's old cheer shirt, her favourite pair of pjs when Brittany herself is not there to cuddle with. "Hi," she breathes, throwing herself into Brittany's arms.

"Hi," Brittany answers into Santana's hair. Santana's not crying, but she's clutching Brittany as if she'd like to. Brittany runs her hands down Santana's back, pulling her into her warmth. Santana breathes deeply against her, arms wrapped tightly around Brittany's neck, opening their bodies up to the other so there is no space between them. Brittany hums and rocks them back and forth, not loosening her hold until Santana starts to pull away because her dad always taught her to never release a hug first because you don't know how much the other person needs it. It's why, when they were younger and things were a little simpler than the last couple years have been, Brittany held Santana until she fell asleep, because Santana always seemed to need be held for longer than anyone else Brittany knew, and because Brittany sometimes needed to be held that long too.

So that's what Brittany does now, just holds Santana until she doesn't need to be held anymore, arms pinned around the small of Santana's back, her chin settled on the stretch of skin between Santana's neck and shoulder, humming something they were singing during glee the other day, something soft and warm.

Santana takes a shuddering breath and draws back from Brittany, giving her a tiny smile as she takes Brittany's hands and tugs her into the bedroom. The bedside lamp is on, bathing the room in warm light and casting deep shadows in the crevasses and corners of the room, painting clothes in mysterious darkness and drawing long swathes of shadow across makeup and hairspray bottles on the dresser. The closet is a gapping hole that used to scare both of them, back when a young Santana would play at being brave to check for monsters, Brittany clutching at the back of Santana's pjs with one hand and her stuffed unicorn with the other. Back when a young Brittany would squeal and bury her face in Santana's neck whenever she caught a looming shadow out of the corner of her eye, Santana's voice shaking as she tried to comfort Brittany until she caught a glimpse the same looming shadow and spin around to bury her head in Brittany's neck too, both girls clutching at each other and trying to soothe each other through their fear.

Santana catches Brittany staring into the closet and smirks at her. "Need me to check for monsters, Britt-Britt?"

Brittany grins and playfully kicks at Santana's ass when she turns to bend over and plug her phone in, her grin widening at the half-offended-half-sultry look Santana shoots over her shoulder. "Nah, San, it's okay. I don't want you to get all scared too."

Santana sticks her tongue out at her, placing her phone facedown on her bedside table and crawling into her bed, shyly gesturing at the headboard in question. Brittany grins and kicks her sneakers off, taking a running leap and flopping on Santana's bed, sending Santana bouncing and giggling. "Britt," she laughs, "What the hell are you doing down there?"

"Escaping the monsters," Brittany mumbles into Santana's duvet. She props herself up on her elbows, her head hovering by Santana's hip and her blonde hair in wild disarray.

Santana laughs and smoothes staticky hair away from Brittany's face. "Come here," she murmurs, tugging at Brittany's shoulders. Brittany grins and lets herself be pulled up to lean against the headboard, crosslegged in front of Santana, their knees brushing against each other, hands tangled between their laps and smiling widely at each other.

"Hey, Santana?" Brittany asks. She hates to break the carefree, happy feeling surrounding them, but she has to know, and they've both been really working on talking to each other about things like this. "Why'd you call earlier?"

Santana tenses for a brief moment before her shoulders drop and she ducks her head, avoiding Brittany's gaze. "Oh. I just— I mean you— You love me, right?" Santana's voice turns small and inward as she asks her question, and Brittany's heart aches just a little bit as she tangles their fingers more tightly together.

"Oh Santana," Brittany says, tugging on Santana's hands until she can press their foreheads together as she pulls Santana forward to tumble onto Brittany's lap, so they're breathing each other's air and pressed so closely together that Brittany doesn't really think they'll ever become fully unstuck. Brittany untangles their hands so she can reach up and cup Santana's face, palms pressed to warm, smooth skin and thumbs stroking across cheekbones; Santana's hands smooth over Brittany's sides before curling into the loose fabric of her hoodie. "Of course I love you. I love you more than anything else in the history of ever, and I love you even more every single day."

"Okay," Santana breathes, her eyes darting between Brittany's, "Okay. I know that. I _do_ ," she vows, "I just— It's just sometimes I need to hear it."

"Honey, I'll tell you as many times as you need me to," Brittany promises, "and then I'll tell you a million more after that too just to make sure you know."

Santana closes her eyes and allows herself a tiny smile. "Thank you," she says, voice awed.

Brittany scrunches her nose at Santana. "You don't have to thank me for loving you, silly. It's, like, the easiest thing in the world."

Santana's eyes open and turn shining and deep and liquid, a little bit like melting chocolate looks, dark and warm. Her smile widens, just a little. "You're amazing, Britt-Britt," she murmurs.

Brittany's skin gets too hot around her cheeks just then. "Yeah, well," she says, and then gives Santana a slow, deep, searching kiss, pressing her promise against Santana's lips.

Santana hums as Brittany pulls back, and she seems settled for a moment before her eyes shift and turn inwards again. "What are we—" she starts, and then pauses to take a deep breath, "What are we doing? I— I mean— How do we act at school?"

"I thought we talked about this already," Brittany ventures cautiously, thinking back to their conversation before school started, and to all the different ways they've just been them, just _Brittany-and-Santana_ since school started.

"My mom called tonight," Santana explains, and Brittany rubs her thumbs over the back of Santana's hands. Santana swallows and closes her eyes briefly before blinking them back open, and Brittany's a little shocked by the pained look in them when they meet hers. "She asked if there were any new guys I'm thinking about dating this year."

Brittany closes her eyes and winces because, yeah, that would explain Santana's slightly panicked call earlier, and her need to be held and reassured. Brittany releases Santana's face to wrap her arms around Santana's neck and shoulders instead, pulling Santana even further into her and pressing her lips to any skin she can reach; temple, cheek, jaw, mouth, neck. "I'm sorry, honey," she murmurs against the skin.

"S'okay," Santana mumbles, pleading and helpless, "she doesn't know any better but it just— It just reminded me of last year, and all the years before that."

Brittany hums but remains patient and silent, waiting, tracing her lips along Santana's warm skin.

"I just— I tried so hard to erase that part of me. I tried to be with so many boys to try and erase it, but it always just made me feel so _empty_ afterwards. And no matter how hard I tried I couldn't erase it, not with any of them. And it—" Santana chokes for a moment, and Brittany can feel Santana's eyes squish closed against her neck. "I would have done _anything_ to not be gay, but I'm not—" Santana pulls away so she can look at Brittany, her eyes too bright and just a little bit wet, but steady and sure. "I'm not like that anymore. I don't want to erase the part of me that loves you, because if I accomplish nothing else in my life, loving you will always be my best thing."

"Tana," Brittany breathes, and she just has to kiss Santana senseless because nothing has ever made her feel more loved than Santana is at this very moment. Santana's fingers dig into Brittany's sides, almost desperately, as she kisses Brittany back as if her life depends on it. The kiss is salty between them, tears from eyes like the summer sky and the earth after it rains caught between lips both insistent and promising.

After what feels like forever, Santana pulls back, peppering kisses across Brittany's chin and jaw, allowing them a moment to catch their breathes, before she recaptures Brittany's lips with her own, nipping at the bottom one before darting her tongue out to soothe the sting. Brittany lets her arms fall from Santana's neck and shoulders until she can cup Santana's face, running her thumbs across cheekbones and keeping Santana's face pressed against hers, chins and noses nudging together as their lips move against each other.

Brittany sighs into Santana's mouth, pulling back so she can study the face she loves more than anything. "I love you," she breathes.

Santana steals one more kiss before she responds, mumbling against Brittany's lips, "I love you too."

Brittany nudges their noses together and kisses Santana again and again and again before her phone dings and she groans, Santana giggling against her lips, drawing back so Brittany can dig her phone out of her pocket, seeing a text from her mom reminding her to be back before midnight. Brittany groans again and lets her head drop against the headboard. "I can't stay the night," she mutters.

Santana pouts and Brittany debates texting her mom back and begging for a sleepover until Santana sighs, teasing and soft. "Fine fine, leave me." Brittany giggles and pokes at Santana as she shifts around until she can settle under her covers, pressing a smile and a kiss to Brittany's thigh before she settles her head in Brittany's lap. "Stay until I fall asleep?" she asks, her voice high and unsure because she never lets herself believe she'll get what she really wants, which is ridiculous because she always wants the things that are easiest for Brittany to give her, like her love.

"Of course, Santana," Brittany promises. Santana relaxes again while Brittany adjusts the duvet so it's completely covering Santana's shoulders. Santana yawns and curls around Brittany's legs, snuggling her face further into Brittany's lap and sighing, her breathing deepening out as Brittany carts her fingers through midnight hair, occasionally letting her nails scratch comfortingly against Santana's scalp. Brittany checks her phone and sees that it's almost eleven thirty, though she's sure Santana will drift off to sleep soon enough that she'll make it home in time, but there's still something she still has to tell Santana before she leaves.

"Hey, Santana?"

Santana sighs softly against her, her breath ghosting across Brittany's lap in a soft puff of warm air. "Yeah, Britt-Britt?"

Brittany swallows and pauses in running her fingers through Santana's hair, her voice dropping to a whisper as she continues, not because it's a secret or anything, but because it feels so big and important that she needs to be quiet to compensate.

"Loving you will always be my best thing too."

* * *

September comes and goes in the quiet moments, with pinkies linked in hallways and hands tangled under desks, with fading freckles and darkening hair, with walks through trees turning golden in the dying light of summer, with numb fingers struggling to open unlocked latches and lithe bodies tumbling through windows because there's something equally childlike and romantic about midnight window kisses, and because that's them, that's their story, from tumbling children to enamoured almost-adults, painted silver in the light of the autumn moon.

* * *

"Come on, mom," Brittany wheedles, "It'll be fun."

"It's the last day of September, and also cold," her mom complains.

"Like really cold," Santana agrees.

Brittany pouts and slumps against the counter, resting her chin on her crossed arms. "You guys are no fun," she groans.

Whitney can see Santana starting to cave and rolls her eyes fondly. "Brittany Susan Pierce, do not guilt Santana into having a bonfire in the middle of autumn just because you want some s'mores."

"But mom," Brittany whines, "Santana wants s'mores too, right?"

Santana's eyes dart between Whitney and Brittany, her mouth dropping open a little. "Well, I mean, uh, yeah, I guess so," she mumbles.

Whitney sighs and rolls her eyes again. "Predictable," she mutters, hiding her smile in a sip of coffee when Brittany sits up, bouncing on her seat, and beams at Santana, who ducks her head to hide a blush. "Go on you two, hurry up and build the fire before it gets too dark."

"Thanks mom!" Brittany chirps, jumping out of her chair and launching herself at Santana for a hug before pulling back and dragging a slightly dazed Santana out of the kitchen by the wrist. "C'mon, Santana, we gotta find some tinder in the garage."

Santana blinks and shakes herself out of her slight stupor, allowing Brittany to tug her through the house. "Slow down, Britt-Britt," she laughs, "the fire's not actually going anywhere."

"No, but the sun is. And I wanna get where we're going before the sun gets where it's going," Brittany explains, pulling Santana into the garage to hunt for the cardboard box of old flyers and newspapers that they keep for starting fires. Once the door to the garage swings shut behind them, Brittany releases Santana's wrist only after pressing a kiss to Santana's palm with a dramatic bow, sending Santana into a fit of adoring giggles and playful swats, that breathless look painting her features in a blush again.

Brittany grins as she turns away to look through the shelves on the other side of the family SUV, searching through containers for tinder box. Brittany picks through the plastic containers and cardboard boxes, shifting through old toys and magazines, pushing aside gardening supplies and vinyls. Santana is sorting through containers on the other side of the garage, nudging dusty cardboard and sticky bags of recyclable cans aside with her toe before bending to shuffle through a box filled with old memories, occasionally narrating her findings to Brittany though laughter. As Brittany is shaking her head at Santana's giggling recount of one of Pierce Pierce's more elaborate 'inventions', Brittany's fingers brush a smooth box unlike the others she has sorted through so far. The box is thick cardboard, smooth and glossy, covered in a pattern of pink hearts and blue stars over a yellow background. The lid is fit tightly to the box, two pieces of clear tape along the long sides keeping the lid stuck snuggly to the box. On the top of the box is a white sticker, a cartoon cat pawing at the corner, with Brittany's elementary scrawl across the top messily declaring it to be _Britt-Britt and San's Adventurs_.

"Hey Santana, come here," Brittany calls with a smile, tracing her fingers along the slightly battered edges of the box. Santana's footsteps echo softly around the dim garage as she rises up on her tiptoes to edge around the front of the SUV, brushing her dusty hands against her black jeans and leaving two splotches of brown-grey powder across her thighs.

"What'd you find?" she asks, slinking up behind Brittany, arms wrapping around Brittany's body and hands sliding into the pocket at the front of her hoodie, front pressed to back and chin resting on Brittany's shoulder to see what she's looking at. Brittany feels Santana press a smiling kiss to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, right where the hem of Brittany's hoodie sits. "I forgot we made that."

Brittany laughs. "So did I. I guess I moved it out here when I started running out of space in my closet. There's a couple boxes of my old dance medals back there too."

"We should open it," Santana suggests, fingers scratching at Brittany's stomach from where they rest inside her hoodie pocket.

Brittany grins and nods, slipping her thumb nail under the lip of the lid and sliding it across the slightly rounded edge to cut the old tape. She glances around the garage before motioning in the direction of two lawn chairs in the corner, pulled into the garage to protect them from the bitter autumn rain and impending snow.

Santana nods against Brittany's shoulder and releases Brittany to lead the way. Brittany plops down in the chair closest to the wall, hidden from the rest of the garage by an old bookshelf. Santana elects to ignore the free chair and plops herself down on Brittany's lap, sitting sideways so her legs are draped over on of the chair's armrests and Brittany has to wrap an arm around Santana to keep her from slipping off her lap. Brittany playfully sighs and rolls her eyes as she wraps her arm around Santana's waist, fingers brushing Santana's stomach as she rests her palm against the slight dip between hipbone and ribs. Santana grins and takes the box from Brittany's free hand, setting it in her lap and pushing the lid off until it hangs over the side by a single piece of tape. The box is near overflowing with pictures, some regular sized and others smaller, cut with shaky childish hands as they cut whatever they didn't like about the photos out until it was just the two of them instead. They pick through the loose pictures together, giggling and kissing and recounting childhood memories frozen in time by the light of a flash.

It's almost funny, seeing the photographs almost a decade later. Brittany is kind of surprised by how at ease they look, arms thrown around shoulders and hands tangled together, legs draped over laps and hips brushing, having nearly forgotten that back before everything got complicated they were always just _Brittany-and-Santana_. Back then they were just like they are now, almost always touching each other somehow, brushing a strand of hair away, placing a guiding hand on the small of a back, bumping shoulders and hips and elbows together, linking pinkies and tangling hands, nuzzling into shoulders and necks. Brittany hates to remember how hard the long months of their junior year were, the ones where they barely touched, where they barely even talked. Those months when Santana would wince and move away whenever they brushed past each other during a dance number, face tight and breath hitching as her eyes darted over to Artie and then away, the months where Santana would perfectly time leaving class so that she wouldn't bump into Brittany in the hallway or meet her at their lockers, the months where Santana keep pulling away because of her fear and Brittany keep pushing back because of hers.

Brittanys leans in and presses a kiss against Santana's cheek, arms tightening around her, unable to express in words how glad she is that they're back to being just _Brittany-and Santana_ again. Santana grins at Brittany and goes to returns the cheek-kiss, purposefully missing Brittany's cheek and catching the corner of her mouth instead, before turning to pick through the box of photographs.

There's pictures from the summer of third grade all the way to the summer right before high school. Each photo is a memory frozen in time, caught in those yellow-cardboard wrapped disposable cameras. There's ones with flour dusted cheeks and guilty eyes and a stolen cookie passed between tiny hands, ones with Brittany's eyes half closed in a blink as she grins at the camera, ones with hands clutched together above a blanket during afternoon naps, ones with a smudge of tan in the bottom left corner that must be Santana's finger. There's ones with Brittany's braids trailing towards the ground as she does a handstand against the side of the school, ones with wet hair stuck to foreheads and bubble covered rubber ducks in the bathtub, ones with Brittany dancing around her room as Santana giggles in the background. There's ones with a toddler-sized munchkin clapping happily between them as they both kiss her cheeks, ones with Santana's fingers caught in a cascade of midnight hair and her face red as she hangs upside down from the monkey bars, ones with Brittany in a blur of motion as she chases a giggling Santana, ones with sand caked on kid-thin legs and arms as a sandcastle stands proudly between toothy smiles, ones with Santana bent nearly in two with the force of her laughter, ones with linked pinkies connecting them as they eat lunch one-handed on a school field trip.

There's pictures there spanning almost five years, and the only common thing tying them all together are the bright, innocent smiles painting their features in pure childlike joy, limbs and hands and memories all tangled together in glossy two-dimension.

"Jesus," Santana mumbles.

"What?"

Santana looks up at Brittany, her face unreadable for a moment before it opens and blooms into a bashful smile. It's almost the Brittany-smile Santana shoots her between classes, with crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks, but it's a little softer, a little more settled. It's less like her Brittany-smile of school hallways, the one with just a hint of fear swimming in her eyes, just a hint of hesitance in the corners of her mouth, and more like her Brittany-smile of their bedrooms, the one with deep eyes that brim with adoration before darting down, the one that makes Brittany's heart ache with how sweet and in-love Santana always looks. It's Santana's best smile, Brittany knows, the one that means she's happy and settled and no longer fighting with herself. It's Brittany's favourite smile, the one that makes Brittany feel more loved than anything else ever could.

Santana's eyes dart back down to look at the picture in her hands, just a little shy. "We looked so in love even back then," she whispers, brushing a thumb over their frozen faces.

Brittany leans closer to Santana to see the picture, resting her temple against Santana's bicep. It's a picture of them frozen at age thirteen, slightly blurry from what's probably her dad's shaky hand. It's summer, bright and warm, new grass under them and blue sky above, half in the shadow of the old buckeye tree in the Pierce's front yard, the one that Santana still climbs for midnight kisses. They're sitting right beside each other, hips and stretched out legs pressed together, holding onto each other through their laughter. Brittany has a half-eaten ice cream cone in one hand, tipped precariously close to being completely horizontal, ice cream melting down the side and dripping on her thigh. Santana is wiping a patch of sticky ice cream off her face from where Brittany had just shoved the cone against Santana's cheek. The camera only caught three-quarters of Santana's face because she's turned towards Brittany, partially leaning forward with the force of her laughter, her head thrown back, ponytail swinging from her shoulder; there's just the scrunched up skin at the corner of her eye and a dimple creasing her cheek caught in the photo, and the brightness that comes from laughing so hard you can barely breathe. Brittany herself is fully caught, adoring and beaming, braids a blur of blonde as they're flipped over sunburnt shoulders, June freckles scattered like caramel raindrops across cheeks bunching sun-pinked skin up against eyes as blue as the sky above them. Their eyes are caught on each other, summer blue on melting brown, adoring and awed.

Brittany can see what Santana means, that they still look at each other like that, like the only thing that matters is making the other smile, like they fell in love long before they knew what being in love actually was.

"We haven't changed much," Brittany agrees.

Santana hums and looks down from her perch on Brittany's lap, smiling her soft and settled Brittany-smile again. "I love you," she whispers, surging towards Brittany and kissing her so fast that Brittany's response is caught somewhere between their lips.

There's a noise at the garage door but Santana doesn't start and jerk away, probably because she knows how hard it is to see properly in the dim sunlight streaming through the dusty covered window on the other side of the garage, and probably because she knows they're hidden from view by the bookshelf looming between them and the door, and probably because even when they really were just best friends they sat like they are now, minus the kissing.

"Girls?" Brittany's mom calls.

Santana pulls away from Brittany with a smile, reaching up to wipe her smudged lipgloss from where it's smeared over the corner of Brittany's mouth. "Yeah, mom?" Brittany calls.

"You've been out here for a while. Did you find the tinder?"

Brittany grins up at Santana. "Nope. We found something better." Santana smiles down at her, eyes deep and liquid and cheeks bunching into dimples.

"Oh yeah?"

"Remember that memory box you helped us make?" Brittany asks, trailing her fingers over Santana's side and hip and using the other to trace the yellow box in Santana's lap. "The yellow one with the stars and the hearts?"

Whitney's laugh echoes around the garage. "You two were so cute when you came and asked me to help you make that. You had to do all the talking because Santana was too nervous about asking me to spend money." Santana laughs because, yeah, that's been true ever since Santana and Brittany had their first playdate and Whitney offered to take them out for ice cream. Santana had been mortified that she had no money, and even more so when Whitney had insisted it was her treat. Brittany laughs too, because Santana is just too adorable most of the time, and squeezes Santana's hip. "You two were, what, ten? When you started making it?"

"Nine," Brittany and Santana answer in sync, and then start giggling.

Whitney laughs too. "Oh right. You added to that box every couple months. It must be pretty full."

"Yeah, we're not even halfway through them," Brittany agrees. She doesn't tell her mom that the real reason they're not even halfway through the box is because they keep stopping to recount the stories behind each picture, and that each story seems to end in a series of mostly innocent kisses.

"I'm assuming you two will be out here looking through that for a while then?" Whitney asks, her tone implying that she knows something the girls would rather her not know.

Santana tenses on Brittany's lap and looks helplessly at Brittany. Brittany rubs circles over Santana's hipbone with the pads of her fingers, her touch soothing even through Santana's thick sweater, until Santana melts against her, relaxed and trusting. "Yeah, I think so," Brittany responds. "We'll skip the fire tonight."

Whitney agrees and leaves, the door to the garage swinging shut behind her. The picture of them laughing is still clutched in Santana's hands and she traces their tiny faces, smiling softly at the photo. "This is a good picture," she murmurs, voice thick.

Brittany agrees with a hum. "Keep it," she says.

"Britt, I—"

"Keep it," Brittany repeats.

"But it's the only copy," Santana protests.

"Then I guess you'll have to keep it safe for the both of us," Brittany teases.

Santana laughs through her nose, ducking down so she can press her forehead against Brittany's. "I won't let anything happen to it."

"You better not," Brittany warns, nudging her nose against Santana's until their lips are almost brushing. "We might need it one day."

"Oh yeah?" Santana challenges, her breath hitching when Brittany's fingers slide under the hem of her sweater, her warm palm smoothing over the skin beneath her hand.

"Mmm," Brittany agrees, tilting her head further until her lips barely brush Santana's with every word, "It would be a good picture for a slideshow or something."

"A slideshow?" Santana asks knowingly.

"Yeah, you know, the ones they always do of the couple as kids, before they knew each other."

"Mmm."

"Except we'd be in all of the 'before' pictures too since we've known each other for forever."

Santana's eyes flutter closed and her smile spreads slowly, blooming across her face; Brittany can't actually see it but she knows it's happening because she can feel the muscles bunch where their cheeks brush. "A slideshow," Santana repeats.

"Yeah, someday," Brittany breathes.

"Someday," Santana agrees, and then their lips finally press together and they almost forget about the box of pictures sitting in Santana's lap, except they don't, because they need to keep it safe for the future, for someday.

* * *

October is falling gold and red, bright and new in the bitter chill of wind that nips at exposed skin, biting at fingers and noses and lips; it's letterman jackets over Cheerio uniforms with pockets big enough to hide tangled fingers if they turn their bodies just the right way, it's pumpkins surrounding doorways and trailing over porch steps and lining sidewalks, it's fake cobwebs dripping from almost naked trees and foam-fabric gravestones spotted through yards, and it's the return of the childlike joy of running through piles of raked leaves, kicking gold into the bright blue sky to float around and stick to inky hair, careful fingers plucking shredded leaf debris and replacing gold with candy-coated kisses.

* * *

They're both singing far too loudly for it being a quarter to midnight, sliding across the cold tile and falling into each other as they jump around the kitchen, the microwave humming in the background. The only light is a rectangle of gold spilling in from the hallway, the warm yellow of the microwave streaming across the stove and floor below it, and the shimmer of streetlights in the dining room window sparkling in the nighttime autumn rain.

The days are cold more often than not, now that it's well into October, which means that they usually wear their letterman jackets to school, sprinting across the parking lot in the morning and after school so their bare legs don't get too cold under their Cheerios skirts. Brittany has always thought Santana looked exceptionally attractive in her letterman jacket, but this is the first year that telling Santana is met with a blushing smile and an attack of kisses instead of the defensive arrogance and the choking fear and the hint of longing from their junior year and before. A lot of things have changed between them, where Santana allows herself to want the things she's always thought she can't have, and Brittany allows herself to love Santana without the fear of pushing her away. They're changing, just a little, subtle changes that Brittany never even notices until she looks back on where they are and where they've been; but in a lot of ways, nothing has changed at all.

Which is why, making a bag of popcorn at quarter to midnight on a Friday, dancing and singing around Santana's empty kitchen in sleep shorts and oversized hoodies, Santana's contact lenses exchanged for her glasses hours ago, socked feet slipping across the floor as they fall into each other's arms, isn't really different at all. They've been doing this since long before they admitted they were in love, and probably long before they were even in love too. They've always been inseparable ever since that first week of kindergarten, and Brittany's so glad that they haven't really changed at all, regardless of the whole helplessly-and-hopelessly-head-over-heels-in-love-with-each-other part.

" _Girl, I know you love it,_ " Brittany sings, spinning and twirling Santana around and under her arm. Santana bumps into Brittany's side, giggling, as she slides away from Brittany. " _How we're smart enough to make these millions. Strong enough to bear the children, then get back to business._ " The popcorn's stopped popping by now and the microwave is making those reminder beeps it does, but neither of them really notice, too caught up in goofily dancing around the kitchen with each other. " _See you better not play me, don't come here, baby. Hope you still like me. If you pay me._ " Brittany spins away from Santana, releasing her so she can dance around, over-exaggeratedly shaking her ass with a wide grin as Santana bends over in a fit of giggles. She slinks towards Santana, putting on her bedroom eyes as she presses herself to Santana's back and slides her hands to Santana's hips, trying to hold in her own laughter. " _My persuasion can build a nation. Endless power, our love we can devour,_ " she husks in Santana's ear, grinning when, despite a full body shiver, Santana continues to giggle.

Santana spins in Brittany's arms and places her own over Brittany's shoulders, elbows locked straight and hands dangling over Brittany's back. " _You'll do anything for me,_ " she sings lowly, her natural rasp deepening until Brittany feels heat curl low in her belly.

Brittany swallows, leaning down to Santana's ear until her lips brush the shell of it, " _Who run the world?_ " she breathes, waiting for Santana's breath to hitch before she grins and presses her lips to Santana's cheek, shrieking " _Girls!_ " against Santana's skin.

"Brittany!" Santana gasps. Brittany giggles as Santana swats playfully at her, capturing the hand hitting her shoulder and spinning Santana under her arm and away, pulling her back in as she continues to sing too loudly.

It's the flash of a camera that alerts them to the fact that they aren't alone and they slide to a stop, Brittany's arms wrapped around Santana from behind in the middle of a spin, their voices dying abruptly as they look up to see Santana's mom standing in the entrance to the kitchen, her blue scrubs almost black in the poorly lit room, her phone held out in from of her as she snaps another picture of their startled faces.

"Mami," Santana manages to sputter in shock and in fear and in horror.

Maribel smiles at them. "You two are cute," she says, bringing her phone closer to her face to flick through her newly snapped pictures.

Santana unfreezes and slips out from Brittany's arms, sending her a wide-eyed look as she heads for the microwave to pull the popcorn out, managing to convey helpless and apologetic and self-reproachful all at once.

"I can add this one to the collection," Maribel continues, glancing up at them with the sly look that's an exact mirror to Santana's own plotting look, the hollow of her cheeks deepening, lips thinning and widening, brows drawn low over dark eyes glowing mischievously as they crinkle in a smirk.

Santana pauses in opening the popcorn bag. "Collection?" she asks suspiciously.

Maribel's smirk widens as she motions for the two girls to follow her into the living room. Santana glances at Brittany, who shrugs in response. Santana tosses the popcorn bag on the counter and follows her mom to the living room, Brittany trailing after. Her mom is crouched by the shelf of photo albums beside the television stand, the paused first scene of _West Side Story_ painting the living room in blueish light, her finger tracing over the album spines until she pulls a worn, maroon one from its place with a small chuckle. She sits on the middle cushion of couch and pats the seat beside her, which Santana takes warily, Brittany flopping beside her, somehow gracelessly graceful as she sprawls on the couch, squishing against Santana so they can both fit on the one cushion, leaning her head against the front of Santana's so she can see the album too.

Maribel opens the album and Santana and Brittany both have to smile. The first page is a blown up picture of them covering the entire eight-by-ten plastic cover. They're about five years old, bodies stiff and hands held rigidly out between them, heads of blonde and dark brunette hair bent together as they stare intently at their feet, Brittany trying to lead Santana through the steps of a waltz her dad had taught her a couple days before. Santana and Brittany glance at each other and burst out laughing, because while they've come so far in a lot of ways, they're still those two girls teaching each other dance in a lot of ways too.

Maribel smiles fondly at the two girls. "I was going through some old pictures about five years ago," her voice grows tense and Santana shifts against her, both of them thinking about the hasty packing up of all their things that followed her messy divorce from Santana's father when Santana was twelve. The same divorce that resulted in Santana and her mom moving out of their expensive and opulent house in Lima Heights and into their slightly rundown but affordable and cozy house in Lima Heights Adjacent; the divorce that resulted in her father moving from town and taking his practice with him, cutting Lima down from four family doctors to three, and cutting Santana down from two parents to one.

Maribel clears her throat and smiles down that the album, tracing her thumb over the glossy plastic covering the photo. "I noticed a pattern in a lot of the photos with you two," she explains. She turns the page to reveal five-by-seven sized photos, all of them showing Brittany and Santana from about age five to six, all of them dancing. "You two were always doing something together, but a lot of the photos I have of you two, you're dancing," she continues, flipping the page to show more pictures of them, one of them from the grandparent's tea in second grade when Brittany had tried to teach Santana to box step, her gramma and poppa dancing beside them, demonstrating the dance and explaining the steps through laughter at Brittany's intense concentration and Santana's adoring smile. Brittany and Santana turn to look at each other, smiles widening because, yeah, they have been dancing together for forever. "I decided to start an album to see how much of it I could fill with just pictures of you two dancing, and I haven't stopped adding to it."

They continue to flip through the album, the young versions of themselves gradually aging and dancing together more confidently. There's pictures of them doing the Macarena in third grade, Santana handing Brittany a bouquet of flowers after Brittany's first solo in her fifth grade dance recital, practicing cheerleading routines when they joined the Junior Cheerios in middle school, dancing with the munchkin caught between them at Brittany's cousin's wedding in grade nine. There's pictures of a blurry Brittany jumping around a laughing Santana and a softly smiling Quinn before their first Cheerios practice, a selfie from their first high school dance when they did each other's hair and makeup, dressed in royal blue button-ups and black ties with their arms wrapped around each other and beaming at the camera after their first invitational, a slightly blurry photo of a television screen that captures Brittany and Santana laughing and clutching each other as they stumble across a mattress, the stage lights caught in gold dresses at Regionals as they clapped along to the beat with half of Finn's arm beside Brittany and Kurt's face frozen as he holds his note beside Santana. There's pictures of their _Rocky Horror_ costumes taking up most of the screen in a selfie as they crowd around Mercedes before their first dress rehearsal, the back of an audience member's head covering the bottom half of their bodies as Santana sings into a microphone and beckons a breathlessly grinning Brittany closer to her, their arms around each other in a picture taken by Karofsky's shaking hands away from prying eyes in a dimly lit corner of the gym before the prom king and queen announcements. And, finally, there's a candid photo that neither of them realized had been taken, the kitchen lit only by the streetlights and the summer moon, dancing goofily around each other in sleep shorts and hoodies and socks.

Maribel lights up her phone and places it, her most recent picture of them dancing in the dark kitchen, over the empty spot in the album beside the one from summer, smiling at Santana and Brittany. "Now I have a new one," she teases.

"Mami," Santana complains, rolling her eyes fondly.

Maribel just laughs in response. "Well, it's late and I'm picking up an overtime shift tomorrow morning, so I'm heading off to bed," Maribel announces, handing the album to Santana and groaning when her back cracks as she stands. "Don't stay up too late, you two," she warns, bending to press a kiss first to Santana's forehead, and then to Brittany's, before she heads for her bedroom down the hall. "Goodnight and love you," she calls over her shoulder, Brittany and Santana chorusing the same in response.

Santana stares down at the album in her lap, smiling softly. "This is so dorky," she murmurs, and Brittany knows she really means _I love my mom_. Brittany grins too and snuggles closer to Santana, their heads bent together and shoulders pressed against each other as they flip through the album again, laughing and narrating the moment each photo caught.

They kind of forget about the cooling popcorn on the kitchen counter, and the half-eaten bag of candy on the coffee table in front of them, and the paused movie still waiting for someone to hit play, and the fact that they should probably sleep on an actual bed.

Instead Santana wakes up the next morning wrapped around Brittany, still on the couch, her head nestled against Brittany's shoulder and under her chin, their arms and legs tangled together. The photo album is sitting on the coffee table beside their bag of candy, her glasses folded and resting on top of it, and the old knitted afghan that's usually draped over the love-seat, whose origins Santana is still unsure of, is tucked in around them. The faint smell of coffee and silent house indicates that her mom has already left for her shift at the hospital.

Brittany sighs and tightens her arms around Santana and tugs her closer against her, humming in contentment as Santana tugs the blanket up her shoulders and settles against Brittany again. Brittany rolls closer to Santana, trapping her between her body and the back of the couch, mumbling something about dancing with unicorns. Santana smiles and presses her lips to the soft skin of Brittany's neck, tightening her own arms around Brittany and settling comfortably against her as she drifts back to sleep, surrounded by warmth and love.

* * *

October comes and goes in the quiet moments, with childlike growing excitement as they promise to take the munchkin trick-or-treating, with cold fingers pressed playfully into cheeks and smearing pumpkin guts all over bare arms, with stomach aches from too much candy and teasing fingers slipping under hoodies to rub soothingly over soft skin, with a slowly growing self-confidence in one and a steady pride glowing in another as a dancer sneaks into the back of the auditorium and cheers embarrassingly loudly as the final note of an audition fades in the vast space, beaming and clapping, Anita fading back into her self as she looks up into the bright lights of the stage and find the source of applause, lighting up from within as she exits stage left.

* * *

The first week of November is damp and drizzly, the sky an oppressive grey that hangs over Lima and promises snow but never delivers, just showers the town in cold autumn rain. The first week of November is when Santana, ridiculous, sweet, adorable Santana, finally clues in to the fact that they've been dating since before the start of summer, and that all of those picnics at the park and dinners at Breadstix and morning coffee runs to the Lima Bean and movie nights at the theatre and in their living rooms were dates; and if they're going by that rule then they've definitely been dating since before the start of summer and, honestly, going by that rule, they've kind of been dating for years. Sex isn't dating, but constantly going on dates and being kind of ridiculously in love sort of counts as dating.

Santana laughs and shakes her head when Brittany tells her this, wrapped up in each other for a movie night. "I can't believe I was so slow on the uptake," she says against Brittany's shoulder. They're stretched out lengthwise on the Lopez's living room couch with the promise of alone time, Santana's mom off working a night shift during their usual Friday night sleepover, Santana half on the cushions and half on Brittany and squished against the back of the couch, legs tangled together and arms tight around each other, the movie casting them in blue light.

Brittany giggles against Santana's head, pursing her lips so she can brush a kiss across her hairline. "You're pretty ridiculous sometimes," she agrees.

Santana shifts and nips teasingly at the pale skin near her mouth, making Brittany's breath hitch when she feels lips and teeth and tongue brushing against her neck. "I'm _your_ ridiculous," Santana teases.

"That doesn't make any sense," Brittany breathes.

"But it makes some sense," Santana says, her lips starting to trail up towards Brittany's jaw as she shifts against the length of her body, propping herself partially up on her elbow to gain some leverage as she nips and sucks at Brittany's skin.

"Barely," Brittany argues, trying to ignore the hitch in her breathing and the rasp in her voice and the heat curling low in her belly.

"Mmm," Santana agrees, her mouth now sucking just behind Brittany's ear as her fingers slip under Brittany's shirt and dance across her abs. Brittany arches towards Santana, her fingers sliding against Santana's sides and catching on her hips, digging into the skin there in attempts to anchor herself back to earth.

"You're awful," Brittany whines.

"That's not what you said earlier," Santana husks against her, lips brushing teasingly over the shell of her ear.

"Well, yeah, I mean," Brittany rasps as Santana's lips start trailing towards her mouth.

"Yeah," Santana agrees, settling herself more fully on Brittany and finally pressing their lips together, her tongue sliding across Brittany's bottom lip and into her mouth as Brittany opens under her.

The movie continues in the background, casting blue, then red, and then yellow light over the living room and painting them in the harsh glow of the television screen. An orchestra crescendos and then cuts off abruptly, the vibrato of the stringed instruments humming lowly as the climax of the movie starts to build, frantic conversation echoing loudly over the violins and cellos holding steady. Their kisses slow as the frenetic energy of the movie's peak builds. Santana's hand stills on Brittany's skin and settles in the dip between her ribs and hipbone, Brittany's fingers relax against Santana's hips and slide to the small of her back, their mouths softening and melting together as they exchange languid kisses.

The moment is broken only by Brittany's stomach rumbling against Santana's, both of them pulling back and allowing their eyes to flutter open and catch on the other, bursting into giggles as soon as their gaze meets.

"How are you still hungry?" Santana giggles, poking at Brittany's stomach.

Brittany tickles across Santana's side in retaliation, grinning when she squirms on top of her. "My date took me for a really early supper after school and then made me work all that food off as soon as her mom left by jumping me in the hallway."

Santana doesn't even blush at Brittany's suggestive look, just grins, wide and proud and unapologetic. "Well, your date should probably get you some popcorn for the rest of the movie so you don't starve."

Brittany grins as her stomach rumbles again. "Probably."

Santana presses a quick kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, and then presses a couple more just because she can, before she clambers off Brittany. Brittany yawns and stretches against the couch, smirking when Santana's eyes drift to her exposed abs as her shirt rises up, before she sits up and stands.

Santana's eyes dart up to Brittany's and soften. "You can stay here if you want, I'll just be a couple minutes."

Brittany grabs Santana's hand and tangles their fingers together. "You might forget the popcorn and I can't risk it."

Santana laughs and rolls her eyes, tugging Brittany down the hall and towards the kitchen. "Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

"Nope," Brittany agrees happily, popping her _p_ as she trails after Santana.

Santana releases Brittany's hand once they reach the kitchen so she can crouch down and sort through the Lopez snack cupboard, mostly filled with granola bars and those fake fruit snacks for before Cheerios practice, orange juice boxes and some boxes of Dots for whenever Brittany's over, and those salted peanuts flavoured in chilli lime spice her mom loves. Brittany leans back against the kitchen island so she can better admire Santana's ass in her sleep shorts as she's bent over, unabashedly staring because they are girlfriends and she now has an monopoly on all admiration of Santana's backside. Santana paws through the cupboard for a moment before she emerges with a bag of popcorn, the box pushed to the back to make room for the pretzels Brittany and Santana had picked up earlier when they were craving something salty but hadn't eaten yet. She takes the plastic wrap off of the bag as she stands, giving Brittany a sly, knowing look as she crosses the kitchen to put the bag in the microwave, setting it on the popcorn option.

"Do you want some water, babe?" Santana asks. She passes Brittany to reach the other side of the kitchen, opening the cupboard above the toaster and reaching in to pull out two plastic cups, setting them on the counter as she turns to give Brittany a questioning look when she doesn't answer right away.

Brittany's breath is still caught and she can feel her heart melting in her chest. "Santana," she breathes, soft and awed and smiling widely.

"What?" Santana asks, her own smile growing even while she remains confused by Brittany's grin.

"You just called me _babe_ ," Brittany explains.

Santana's eyes go wide and her mouth drops open a little in shock. "I— I just— I mean— Because— Because we're, you know," she stutters.

Brittany knows exactly what Santana means, but it's really fun to tease and fluster Santana about little things like this because she's so easy to work up, so she pouts a little and shakes her head.

Santana's a little breathless and her cheeks are pinking even under her tan skin, all the way to the tips of her ears. "Well, because we're girlfriends," she finally manages to say, her voice small and bright.

"Yeah," Brittany agrees, taking quick steps to reach Santana with her hands clasped behind her back, nudging their noses together until Santana's face stretches into a wide smile, "yeah we are, _girlfriend_."

"Yeah," Santana breathes, and then tilts her head back and captures Brittany's lips with hers. Brittany smiles and hums against Santana's lips, nipping at the bottom one and then running her tongue along it. Santana's hands tug at the hem of her sleep shorts, the backs of her knuckles brushing against Brittany's thighs; Brittany's hands remain behind her back, twisting together as she rocks into the kiss. When she pulls back, Santana is a little dazed, her eyes bright and clear. "Is that okay?" Santana asks, her voice all tiny and soft and nervous, "That I call you 'babe'? I can call you something else, if you want."

Brittany smiles and steps so close that every time Santana breathes in and Brittany breathes out their bodies brush. She teases Santana's hands away from her shorts and tangles their fingers together, grinning when Santana melts against her, relaxed and boneless. "It's perfect, _babe._ "

Santana still looks a little dazed and her smile turns goofy and gooey, her dark eyes bright and liquid, and her dimple begging to be kissed. Brittany obliges, pressing a lingering kiss to the crease in Santana's cheek. "I like that," Santana breathes as Brittany pulls back, her lips temptingly curling upwards into her settled Brittany-smile, and Brittany has to oblige the siren call again.

"Yeah," she agrees, pressing her lips to Santana's, "so do I."

* * *

November is crimson sunsets and migrating birds as the wind turns more cold than cool, whipping hair into eyes and mouths as they sprint towards the warmth of spice scented homes; it's the scent of the earth ripening and settling as it readies itself for the coming winter snow, it's choking fear and crumbling bravery as their love is poked and prodded at by people who have never tried to understand, and it's just them, standing upright and strong, hands tangled together in the face of everything they've both feared, in the face of outing and stares and talks and people trying to take their love and make it into something else, except neither of them run away this time, they run towards each other instead.

* * *

There's movement at the door just as Santana is dozing off against Brittany, spent from the long week and the long day and her emotions and the fact that everything she's been working towards for the past six months just got completely beaten down by careless teenage self-absorption until she was shoved out of the closet with nothing to hold onto but Brittany's hand and her own crumbling courage. Brittany stiffens, glaring across the room and tightening her arms protectively around Santana as the door creaks slowly open.

It's just Mercedes, and Sugar hovering behind her. "Hey, girl," Mercedes says, her voice softly carrying across the room, "can we come in?"

Brittany relaxes and nods because the Troubletones have been so supportive over this whole mess, from when Santana came running and sobbing into the practice room and fell upon Brittany, and up to when Santana had jumped down from the stage, fear so thick Brittany could almost taste it in the tense air until she felt like she was choking as she sang. Mercedes had cleared the room for them and kept an eye on both of them as they got ready for their performance, offering to cancel or postpone it without even knowing what was wrong; and Sugar had done Brittany's hair when Santana was too shaky to do it herself, offering to hire a hitman for whoever hurt them even before knowing what was wrong.

Santana stirs against Brittany but settles when a soothing hand smooths down her back. Mercedes and Sugar slip into the room and shut the door quietly behind them, leaving the lights off and the room in the semi-darkness of the late afternoon sun streaming in the windows as they crept across the room.

After Santana had slapped Finn and fled Brittany had jumped of the stage after her. She had hesitated, just for a second, trying to decide if she had enough time to scream at Finn too, until she heard the auditorium door swing open and made up her mind, sending Finn a withering glare that had him shifting awkwardly in his seat before chasing after her desperately terrified girlfriend. They had ended up in the Troubletones practice room because, since defecting from the New Directions, it was the only room where Santana felt safe; and because of that, and because of how easily Mercedes took everything Santana did or said in stride, Santana always allowed herself to be a bit more herself there. Since Brittany already knew about that fucking ad, all she could do was pull Santana into her arms and sink to the floor, back against the wall and face wet with her own tears. She was helpless because there was nothing she could say or do to fix this, she could only listen to Santana's heart shatter, feeling the break echo in her own chest, and hope that if she held Santana tight enough she could keep her from falling apart.

Mercedes sits down on the floor, cross-legged, in front of Brittany and Santana, Sugar settling herself beside Mercedes. Sugar looks close to crying, her eyes teary with emotion and her arms wrapped around her legs and chin resting on her knees, almost childlike as she stares wide-eyed at them. Mercedes sends Santana a worried glance, concern and confusion swimming in her eyes. "Is she alright?" she whispers.

Brittany swallows, because there's the million dollar question. "I don't know," she admits honestly. "She will be, I think, eventually."

Mercedes nods slowly and seems to think for a long moment before searching Brittany's face for something. A small, knowing smile slowly spreads across her face, her eyes bright with something warm and careful and kind. "So," she drawls, "You and Santana," she trails off and raises her eyebrows suggestively, and Brittany can feel herself blush before she can stop it, which is probably answer enough.

Brittany spares a brief thought for waking and consulting Santana first before nodding confirming Mercedes question and reinforcing it with her darkening blush; because Santana does truly like Mercedes because she treats Santana like a real friend and Brittany like she's not stupid, and since everything's kind of already been forced into the light, and it's kind of obvious now to anyone with a working pair of eyes, and Santana trusts her to be careful with them, and Brittany would never abuse that trust because their thing is too precious to be careless with.

"You knew?" she murmurs, unable to help herself as she smiles down at Santana.

Mercedes smiles softly as her eyes drift fondly to Brittany's hand stroking up and down Santana's back. "Between the party line call in sophomore year and the spat you two had during the duet competition and then everything with Artie last year? And that whole _Landslide_ performance and the Fondue for Two thing last year?" Mercedes chuckles a little, but it's not teasing or cruel, just amused and affectionate. "I suspected. But as for when I knew for sure? Just watching you two during Troubletones practice was enough."

Brittany smiles and feels her blush darken because, yeah, when Santana allows herself to be a little bit more herself, like she does in the Troubletones practice room, she gets touchy. Or, at least, she gets more touchy than she already is when they're trying to show the world that they're just best friends. And when Santana gets more touchy she alway needing to have at least one part of her in contact with Brittany; a pinky link or a shoulder massage, fixing a messy ponytail or tugging on the back of a letterman jacket, tossing legs over a lap or standing close enough to brush shoulders and hips and thighs. "I guess we weren't exactly subtle, huh?" Brittany says conversationally.

Mercedes and Sugar both let out snorts in such sync that's it's almost impressive. "Not exactly," Mercedes agrees, "I mean, I'm pretty sure even Karofsky could see you two were in love when he was dating Santana last year, and he's dumber than a sack of potatoes."

Brittany giggles and presses a kiss to Santana's forehead as she stirs against her, waiting until Santana has reburied her face in Brittany's neck and her grip around Brittany's dress has relaxed again before she glances back at the other Troubletones.

"There's an ad," she starts to explain and squeezes her eyes shut, because Santana always tells her to get things over with and rip them off like a bandaid, which doesn't make a lot of sense to Brittany since she's pretty sure you can't bandage a heart because, if you could, Brittany would have already patched up the bleeding pieces of Santana's. "A campaign ad from that smelly pizza guy running against Coach for congress. It's a— It's a smear campaign against her, questioning her character." Mercedes and Sugar are silent, and Brittany can almost taste their confusion like she could taste Santana's fear earlier, in the dressing room and on stage. Brittany opens her eyes and meets Mercedes' and Sugar's gaze in turn, dark like midnight and then warm like coffee. "When Finn outed Santana in the hallway," she says, voice low and full of a boiling anger deep in her stomach and chest she had never felt before, at least, not until a couple days ago when Santana had stumbled over her words as she explained what had happened, "someone overheard and told their uncle, the smelly pizza guy."

Mercedes' eyes widen until they look more white than not against her dark irises, her quiet gasping _no_ is choked, caught in her chest; Sugar's hands fly to her face and she looks close to tears, blinking furiously as she shakes her head in horror; both girls can see where this is going. Brittany just tightens her arms around Santana, burying her face in dark hair for a second, breathing in citrus and vanilla and pinewood, Sugar's borrowed hairspray and courage, before she forces herself to look back up at Mercedes and Sugar.

"The ad outs Santana."

Mercedes and Sugar both swallow thickly and stare at Brittany, pain and anger and horror painting both their features in tense, pinched looks. Brittany looks back down and tightens her arms around Santana again, wondering if she could put all the pieces of their hearts back together just by keeping them wrapped up in each other for the rest of forever, because Brittany understands things like limits and infinity and forever, and she understands that she needs Santana with her and her heart whole for any of it to really count.

"Her parents don't know about us," she confesses softly, "About her," she trails off, not wanting to give away Santana's deepest secret even though it's already been shoved into the open.

Mercedes eyes cloud and Sugar winces a little, glancing down at her hands, and Brittany can almost see the way everything from the practice room to the auditorium replays on the inside of their eyelids.

"Brittany, I'm so sorry," Mercedes finally says, her voice a little choked. "That— He— I mean—" she sighs in frustration and curls her hands into fists, looking up at Brittany with bright, almost protective anger, burning in her eyes. "What can we do to help?"

Brittany thinks for a long moment and remembers the way Santana had kept repeating _The ad says_ and _Tonight at eight_ and _She still doesn't know yet_ and _I have to tell her before_ when she had broke down earlier. "Can you help me get her home?" she finally asks, "Her mom drove us this morning and we need to talk to her at home before— Before she sees the ad."

"Is she," Mercedes starts to ask and then trails off at the pained look on Brittany's face, her normally bright blue eyes dull and tired.

"We don't know," Brittany admits. "I mean, I think she's— But we just— We just don't know."

Mercedes nods once, and then again, and then gives Brittany a shaky, supportive smile. "Of course we'll help you," she promises, glancing at Sugar. Sugar doesn't say anything, just stares wide-eyed at them, something intimately painful swimming in her teary eyes, but she nods fiercely, wringing her hands together like how Santana does sometimes.

"Thank you," Brittany murmurs. "Do you two mind—" she trails off as Mercedes automatically nods and stands, waiting for Sugar to do the same before she smiles down at Brittany and Santana.

"I'll pull my car around to the front, okay?" Mercedes asks, waiting until Brittany nods before she turns to Sugar. "Do you know where their bags are in the dressing room?" Sugar nods eagerly and darts out of the room before Mercedes can continue, Mercedes following more slowly, giving Brittany a fond eye roll at their youngest Troubletone.

When the door clicks closed behind them Brittany allows her self one long moment of silent tears before she takes a shaky breath and wipes her hand across her face, hoping to erase any evidence of her own pain before she wakes Santana. Once her tears are dried and her mascara is cleaned up as best she can without a mirror, she runs her hands over Santana's back with a little more pressure, murmuring softly against her temple.

Brittany can tell Santana doesn't remember everything right away, because she wakes up with a hum of contentment for a too-short moment before she stiffens and shoots upright, almost slamming her head into the bottom of Brittany's chin. "Britt," she chokes out, but Brittany is already there, guiding Santana back to her shoulder and pressing kisses to any place her lips can reach, running her hands down Santana's back until she relaxes against her.

"It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

Santana takes a shuddering breath, but Brittany can tell she's calmed down slightly by the wet kiss she feels against her neck. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," Brittany sighs back, tightening her hold on Santana until she pulls back.

"Britt," Santana says helplessly.

Brittany smoothes dark hair back from Santana's face, tucking the strands that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears. "I know, honey, I know. But I'm going to come home with you and we'll talk to your mom together, okay?"

Santana swallows thickly, her dark eyes darting between Brittany's blue ones. "Britt, I'm scared," she confesses.

"So am I," Brittany replies honestly, running her fingers against Santana's neck and across her shoulders and down her arms until she can tangle their fingers together. "But whatever happens, we'll do it together, okay?"

Santana nods and searches Brittany's face for a long moment before she releases one of Brittany's hands to reach up and swipe her thumb under Brittany's eye, the pad of her thumb coming back splotched with dark ink. "You were crying," she murmurs, searching Brittany's eyes for an explanation.

Brittany sighs and tips her head forward, staring at Santana's cheekbone instead of meeting her eyes. "I just don't like seeing you in pain," she admits.

Santana sighs and ducks her head to catch Brittany's eyes. "I don't like seeing you in pain either." They're silent for a long moment until Santana takes a deep breath. "The ad outs you too," she says quietly.

Brittany is already shaking her head before Santana finishes talking. "Not like that. Not like you."

"Britt—"

"No, I'm only outed here where people know you and me, not to everyone in Ohio." Santana winces because it's true, but shakes her head because all this affects Brittany more than she's admitting, because she's playing it down for Santana and they both know it. "And even then I've never really hid that I like girls and boys. I'll be okay," she promises.

Santana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing Brittany's hands so she can cup her face in her palms, Brittany's own hands automatically rising to catch Santana's and hold them against her cheeks. "How did I get so lucky?" she murmurs.

Brittany turns her head to press a long kiss to the centre of Santana's left palm, and then does the same to the right. "You didn't. You just couldn't read the board 'cause you're stubborn and didn't wear your glasses in kindergarten."

Santana lets out a small laugh, her smile genuine for the first time since she came crashing into the practice room earlier. "Well I'm glad I was so stubborn and blind back then."

"So am I," Brittany agrees. Santana's quiet hum is against caught against Brittany's lips as she kisses her. Brittany pulls away after long moments, squeezing her fingers gently against Santana's hands. "We should go, get it over with." Santana takes a deep breath and then nods, allowing Brittany to pull her up into a hug and then lead her out of the room.

The car ride is silent save for the quiet radio, Santana subdued against Brittany's shoulder, staring blankly out the window. Brittany keeps her one arm wrapped tightly around Santana despite the seatbelt digging into her skin, her other hand playing with Santana's fingers in her lap, occasionally catching Mercedes' concerned gaze in the rearview mirror. Even Sugar remains quiet in the passenger seat, pretending she's not nervously wringing her hands as her eyes dart around the car. They reach Santana's neighbourhood and pull into her driveway under Brittany's soft directions, and Santana can't even bring herself to feel embarrassed about Mercedes and Sugar seeing where she lives, the only other people at McKinley High School besides Brittany who've seen her house. Lima Heights Adjacent isn't really the _worst_ neighbourhood in Lima, but it's definitely up there. It's safe, more or less, mostly just old duplexes that probably need to get fumigated and townhouses with slightly crumbling foundations, one of the town's two trailer parks just a row of old houses and a back alley away.

The four girls sit in silence for a long moment after Mercedes cuts the engine. Santana's fear is bubbling deep in her stomach, rising up and choking her, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her nose. Brittany keeps running her fingers across Santana's hands, pressing each knuckle like a piano key and tracing a small scar from when they were seven and tried to clean up a vase they had accidentally broken.

"We'll wait here," Mercedes finally says, "Just in case— I mean— To drive Brittany home, after— After everything."

Brittany nods and is about to thank her when Santana beats her to it. "Thanks, 'Cedes. And you too, Sugar. For— For being there."

Mercedes catches Santana's eye in the rearview mirror and something like understanding passes between them. "Of course," Mercedes says, "we're Troubletones, we've got each other's backs."

Santana gives her a small smile, affectionately shoving Sugar in the shoulder as she clambers out of the car after Brittany, leaving their bags in the backseat just in case—

The walk to the door is not nearly long enough, and because both of their house keys are in their bags Brittany has to ring the doorbell. And then they wait, pinkies linked, Brittany shifting her weight to one foot and kicking the other back and behind her leg, Santana trying to swallow her nausea and hoping her legs start working again when she hears her mom's footsteps behind the door.

Maribel Lopez opens the door and immediately knows something is wrong, taking the entire scene in with growing worry. Her daughter and her daughter's best friend, who is more like a second daughter, really, are standing on the porch, still in their performance dresses, looking like fear is growing within them by the second, both of their faces tight and shiny, mascara smudged under their eyes. Brittany's car isn't in the driveway like it usually is when the two girls are over at the Lopez's house, instead it's a silver BMW with two girls Maribel vaguely recognizes as other glee club members.

Maribel's eyes dart between the two girls in front of her before she steps forwards and takes their hands, the ones not linked at their pinkies, in her own. " _Mijas_ , what's going on?"

Santana opens and closes her mouth a couple times, fighting with her chest and her throat and her fear to try and speak before she looks helplessly at Brittany. Brittany swallows and nods, turning back to the woman who's always been like a second mother to her. "We need to talk to you."

Maribel nods instantly, her brow furrowing just like Santana's does as she pulls them into the house, casting a glance at the car in the driveway before shutting the door behind her. She ushers the girls into the kitchen, the scent of the pulled pork cooking in the slow cooker filling the room. The two girls sit at the island stools, staring at each other with heartsick eyes. Maribel decides to give them a moment to compose themselves, moving to the counter beside the stove and checking on supper, using two forks to tear the pulled pork apart before tossing the utensils into the sink and recovering the slow cooker. When she turns back, Santana and Brittany are still staring at each other, faces pinched in almost identical looks of pain. She walks to the counter and leans on it, eyes darting between the two girls until the silence stretches on too long and she has to break it.

" _Mija_ ," Maribel says, waiting until both girls look at her, "what's wrong?" Her gaze darts between the two girls sitting with stiff backs and tense shoulders.

Santana swallows thickly and looks helplessly at Brittany. Brittany's hands twist around Santana's beneath the counter, trying to massage comfort into the muscles and bones beneath tan skin. Santana glances at her mom again, unable to meet her eyes, looking just past her shoulder and out the kitchen window above the sink. "Mami," she manages, voice quiet and trembling, "I'm gay," she says, and then the tears start to fall.

Maribel blinks, and for one incredibly long split second Santana's _sure_ she's about to be told to pack her bags and leave. But then Maribel's face clears and softens and she reaches for Santana's free hand, closing both of hers over it, leaning over the counter so she's closer to Santana. "Oh, _mija_ ," she murmurs, bringing Santana's hand to face and pressing a kiss to the knuckles, "I love you, so much, and I don't care about who you do or don't love."

Santana takes a shuddering breath, tears stinging her eyes for what feels like the millionth time that week, making her face feel tight and sticky as they fall. "R- Really?" she sobs.

Maribel presses another kiss to the knuckles in her hand. "Of course not, _mija_ , and I'm sorry I ever gave you any reason to doubt that I wouldn't love you if you were true to yourself. I'm your mami, and my only job is to love you because of who you are."

Santana manages a smile through her tears. "Thank you, mami," she mumbles, "I love you too." Brittany releases one of her hands from around Santana's and reaches up to wipe the tears from her face. Santana shoots her a grateful smile as Brittany brushes dark hair back from her face.

Maribel presses Santana's hand to her cheek and glances between her daughter and Brittany knowingly, watching the way Brittany carefully catches tears on her thumb and gently drys Santana's face, and the way Santana gives this small, grateful, adoring smile in response. "You two are together," Maribel says out loud, and as she says it she's struck by how she never realized it before. She had suspected, of course, that they had slept together; she's not stupid, or deaf. And she knows how much they care for each other, but looking at the two girls now, she feels a little dumb that she hadn't realized how in love they are until this very moment.

Santana looks at her mom and swallows thickly, giving a small nod.

Maribel turns her steady gaze on Brittany. "Do you love her?" she asks.

Brittany doesn't even hesitate as she turns to look at Santana's mom, her hand falling from Santana's face to join it with her other one around Santana's hand, settling them on their lap and playing with their fingers. "More than anything. I've loved her since that day in kindergarten when she let me help her read the board because she didn't want anyone know she wore glasses. And I've been in love with her since the day I dared her to kiss me under that oak tree in the park and she did. Or maybe even before that even though people always say I'm too young to know about love. Sometimes it feels like I've loved her forever. She's my best friend and my favourite person ever and I love her more and more everyday. And even though everyone always tells me I'm wrong about most things, I know I'm right about this, I know I'm right about this one thing." Brittany breaks her gaze away from Maribel to look at Santana, eyes bright and warm. "Loving her is my best thing," she whispers, her words meant more for Santana than for Santana's mother.

Maribel smiles at Brittany, her heart aching with happy sorrow; she had always known the day would come when her little girl—when _both_ her little girls—would grow up, she just hadn't thought it would come so soon. But despite the ache in her chest at the fact that the two girls sitting across from her are not so little anymore, she can't help but be unconditionally grateful that they are growing up together, happy and in love. "That's all I've ever wanted for Santana," she promises.

Santana swallows thickly and glances away from Brittany to look at her mom, except she still can't meet her eyes and ends up studying the blinds of the kitchen window, just past her mom's ear. "So you're really okay with— With us being together? With me—" Santana's voice breaks and becomes small and quiet, "With me being gay?" She finally manages to meet her mom's gaze and is both surprised and not at all surprised by the love and acceptance she sees brimming in dark eyes nearly identical to her own because, if she thinks about it, if she _really_ thinks about it and removes her own fear and the internalized homophobia from her thoughts, her mom has never given her any reason to really doubt that she would be anything other than accepting and loving. Her father and the rest of her family on the other hand—

Maribel reaches across the counter to take Santana's hand and brings it to rest over her heart. "Of course, _mija_ , I don't care who you love, as long as they make you happy. And Brittany's been making you happy for so long, and I trust her to continue to do so, even if it is less as a best friend and more as your sweetheart. Especially then, because you've been so much happier since the summer. Less angry about your— About your father. You're more settled now, like you've found yourself. And I have a feeling it has a lot to do with this young lady holding your hand under the counter."

Brittany and Santana both blush as they glance at each other, smiling shyly as their fingers twine tighter together, before Santana nods slowly, both caught up in the other's eyes and their overwhelming senses of relief. Maribel smiles at them and tightens her fingers around the hand in her own. "Now come here you two, you both need hugs."

Santana chokes on a relieved laugh and stands to wrap her arms tightly around her mom, feeling a lot like a little girl again, seeking comfort in her mom's healing embrace, but for the first time in years it doesn't feel like a bad thing. Her mom releases one arm from around Santana's back, gesturing for Brittany to join, and giving them both kisses to their foreheads with a soft _I love you_ , waiting until they echo it back before she releases them. The two girls glance at each and smile again, just because, and Maribel grins, allowing herself to fade to the background.

Brittany wraps Santana in a hug of her own, pressing kisses to Santana's temple. "I need to go home for dinner," Brittany whispers into dark hair.

"Really?" Santana pouts.

"Really really," Brittany teases, pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to Santana's nose before she grows serious. "I need to tell my parents too."

Santana swallows thickly and nods. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asks bravely.

Brittany feels her stomach swoop out from underneath her as she falls more in love with Santana (it's the seventeenth time that day, because Brittany understands numbers and forever and infinity, and all the little things Santana does throughout the day that makes Brittany love her even more also helps her understand those things just a little bit better). "No, honey, you've been through a lot today. You need to change into sweatpants and that hoodie I know you stole from my Cheerios bag last week and eat your mom's delicious pulled pork and give her some more hugs. I'll eat with my family and then come back, you'll barely know I was gone."

Santana pouts playfully but her eyes are bright and grateful. "I suppose," she says with a mock frown. "I'll walk you to the door," she offers, getting that flustered, breathless look when her mom lets out a knowing chuckle on the other side of the kitchen. "Oh, hush you," she directs at her mom as she takes Brittany's hand and drags her to the front door, barely allowing Brittany time to call out her _see you later_ 's to Maribel.

Santana stands and wrings her hands together as she waits for Brittany to slip her black heels back on. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

Brittany shakes her head, standing up and cupping Santana's face; Santana has to tip her head back to meet Brittany's eyes with the added height of the heels. "It's okay, really, stay here with your mom. My parents already know I'm bi, and I told my sister I have a crush on you when she asked about it," Brittany says with a wink. Santana grins, nudging their noses together so she can give Brittany a quick peck. "And if even the munchkin can see it, well, I can guarantee my mom knows about us already."

"Okay," Santana breathes before pressing another kiss to Brittany's warm lips, "I love you."

"I love you too," Brittany replies with an easy smile. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Mmm," Santana agrees as she presses her lips to Brittany's again.

" _Mija,_ Let Brittany go so she can eat already!"

Santana rolls her eyes, but amidst her fond exasperation her eyes are watery with relief and her smile is grateful. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she calls back, her eyes twinkling at Brittany as she gives her hands one last squeeze before leaning past her to open the door. "Hey, tell 'Cedes and Sugar how it went and— And tell them thank you," she says before Brittany exits.

"Of course, silly," Brittany says, pressing a kiss to Santana's lips before turning and crossing the porch, skipping the two steps and landing gracefully even in her heels. Santana leans on the doorframe as Brittany jogs across the yard, her pale arms wrapped around herself for warmth. They hadn't noticed it earlier because of everything, but it's freezing out and the grass crackles and breaks under Brittany's heels. Santana waves to Mercedes and Sugar, smiling brightly when they wave back. She can't be bothered with her bitchy façade when her mom still loves her despite— No, _because_ of who she is and who she loves. They both glance at each other in surprise before beaming and waving back as Brittany hops in the car. Santana watches them for a few minutes, smiling when Sugar seems to bounce out of her seat and Mercedes beams and claps her hands together, leaning forward to blow a pleased kiss at Santana. Santana rolls her eyes but gives the car two thumbs up, waving as Mercedes pulls out of the driveway and down the street before she follows her nose back into the house and to the kitchen. Her mom's at the sink, scrubbing at the dishes from yesterday and humming along to the radio in the corner where some old Motown song is crooning around the kitchen. Santana grins and crosses the room to her mom, wrapping her in a hug from behind and wrinkling her nose in complaint when her mom pats her arm with a soapy hand, feeling ridiculously light, as if something inside her had loosened and in its place was the love and acceptance she has always craved.

Hours later and they're curled up on the couch, stretched out lengthwise with Brittany squished between the back of the couch and Santana, Santana leaning back into Brittany and tracing patterns over the forearm wrapped around her stomach, some stereotypical crime-drama-murder series casting the dim living room in a blue glow. Brittany narrates her evening of telling her parents and the munchkin about them, which went exactly how she expected, with her mom's exclamation of _Took you long enough! Pierce you own me twenty bucks_ and her dad's joking _Santana? Who is this Santana person and what are her intentions with my baby girl?_ and her sister's _Is that why you two spend so much time being boring and just_ smiling _at each other?_

Santana laughs and snuggles further back into Brittany's embrace. "That's the Pierces," she agrees affectionately. "I'm glad your family and my mom are so awesome."

"Me too," Brittany sighs happily. "They, uh," she doesn't really want to disturb the calm that had settled over them, but they really do need to talk about everything that had happened, "they didn't take it well when I told them about the ad. My mom especially, she was engaged."

Santana's silent for a moment. "Enraged?" she asks, and even without looking at her face Brittany can hear the smile in her voice.

Brittany giggles. "Yeah, I was thinking engaged wasn't quite right."

Santana sighs, the sound warm and bright, "Yeah, enraged makes a little more sense." She's quiet for a beat, and then, "I told my mom about the ad too, she's furious."

Brittany swallows thickly. "Can she do anything?"

"She should be able to because I'm a minor and it's such a gross invasion of privacy, especially since I have nothing to do with the election," Santana says and then hesitates, pausing in tracing her fingers over Brittany's arm. "But not— Not in time."

Brittany glances at the glowing numbers of the clock on the television box. They burn into Brittany's memory, mockingly searing _8:17_ against into her until she can see neon red against her eyelids when she winces and squeezes her eyes shut. The ad had aired for the very first time thirteen minutes ago, and so Brittany peppers thirteen kisses against the cheek she can reach, trailing them to Santana's lips and pressing the last seven kiss there, and then adding about five more just because, until she's swallowing Santana's giggles around her own smile.

Brittany settles again, her chin resting on Santana's shoulder as she gazes down at her. She doesn't want to disturb their peace again, but Santana, sensing her hesitance, glances up and meets her eyes, nodding with a small smile. "You can ask me, Britt-Britt."

"What about—" Brittany pauses and thinks, before asking carefully, "Did you talk to your dad?"

Santana shrugs, her eyes shifting past Brittany to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Well, you know I haven't really talked to him since June," she explains quietly. Brittany shifts and buries her nose into the hair at the nape of Santana's neck, her heart aching for her girlfriend. Santana shrugs again and melts further back into Brittany's embrace, tracing her fingers along the arm Brittany has wrapped around her torso. "He emailed a couple weeks ago," she mumbles, "for my birthday."

"Oh Santana," Brittany murmurs, leaning up to press a long kiss to Santana's temple. "I'm sorry."

Santana's quiet for a long time before she curls into herself, pulling Brittany with her until she's draped over Santana like a blanket. "I told him, after you left. Mom convinced me to call him myself before— Before he sees the ad." Brittany presses herself closer and waits. "She thought he should hear it from me, but she— She warned me that he— That he probably wouldn't—" Santana breaks off and takes a deep breath before she falls silent.

Brittany nuzzles back into Santana's neck, pressing her lips against the warm skin underneath her mouth. "Did he— Did he not take it well?"

"He didn't say anything. He didn't yell or scream or disown me. He was quiet for a moment and then he asked me if I was planning on having Thanksgiving with my mom again, and when I said yes he hung up. He just— He just didn't say _anything_." Santana doesn't cry because she's just too tired after today, tired yet happy about everything with her mom and the Pierces. Though, thinking back on it, it was always her dad that she feared telling the most. "I don't know what I expected, but it would be easier if he did something, you know?" Brittany nods against Santana's neck and presses another kiss there, tightening her arms around Santana. "But he just— _Nothing_ , nothing at all."

"I'm sorry," Brittany repeats.

"I know," Santana says, finally smiling. "That's all that matters to me, that you're here and that my mom and your family knows and accepts us, everything else is just trivial compared to that."

Brittany smiles against Santana's neck before it fades as her thoughts change again. "What are you going to tell the glee kids?" she asks, trying to keep the current distain she feels for most of the New Directions regarding everything over the past couple days out of her voice.

But, of course, Santana hears it and twists in her arms to press a kiss to the underside of Brittany's jaw. "I'll tell them that my parents are okay with it, because my mom's the only parent I've had for a while, and she's the only one who really matters. And the glee kids don't need to know that."

Brittany hums. "I love you," she says.

Santana grins and cranes her neck up to press a soft, warm kiss to Brittany's lips. "I love you too," she whispers against Brittany's mouth, before she settles back against Brittany, burying her face in Brittany's neck and breathing in the scent of coconut and honeysuckle and jasmine and something sharp and minty, probably the muscle ointment Brittany sometimes uses after Cheerios practice when she's particularly sore.

The shuttering of a camera alerts them to the fact that they're not alone, and Santana groans loudly as she buries herself further into Brittany, who is shaking with laughter. "Mami," Santana complains.

"I'm starting a new album," her mom announces, the smirk evident in her voice, "you two have been cuddling for about as long as you've been dancing."

"Britt-Britt," Santana whines, "Make her stop."

Brittany laughs. "Well, she's not exactly wrong, babe. We used to nap together, like, all the time." She shifts, turning so she can see Maribel at the end of the couch, grinning widely when Santana grumbles at being slightly dislodged from her place against Brittany's neck. "I'm sure my mom has a bunch of pictures too," Brittany offers.

Maribel brightens. "Of course! I'm going to go call her right now, since we're practically parent-in-laws and all," she teases.

Santana groans into Brittany's neck, loud and low and long, "I can't believe you'd betray me like that, Britt-Britt."

Brittany laughs and presses a kiss to the top of Santana's head. "What can I say? I've got to stay on your mom's good side, since we're girlfriends and all."

Santana hums dreamily. "Yeah," she agrees, and she doesn't even react when her mom starts snapping about twenty pictures too many, "we are."

* * *

November comes and goes in the quiet moments, with knowing stares that make skin crawl under judging eyes and hands that tighten defiantly and comfortingly in response, with the work they put into rebuilding their courage and shedding fear like the trees shed the last of their leaves, with cold wind that steals the breath right from their lungs as they tug each other through the parking lot by fully intertwined fingers instead of linked pinkies, with the Troubletones rallying around them in protective glares and threats of the Motta's seemingly never-ending supply of money, where fear is replaced by the warmth and acceptance and understanding that has always been craved but was only found once they were safe enough to be their private selves around other people _._

* * *

When Brittany stumbles down the stairs at nine-thirty in the morning, her eyes still blurry with sleep and a yawn caught against her teeth, she wasn't expecting to almost knock the Thanksgiving turkey out of her mom's hands. It's only her quick, almost cat-like reflexes that saves them from being turkey-less that night, especially when Lord Tubbington, frightened by the sudden commotion at the foot of the stairs, shoots past Brittany and her mom where they're tangled together, the turkey still caught between them, as Whitney stumbles into the wall.

"Lord Tubbington," Brittany chides as she steadies her mom with one hand, tightening her other around the roaster, "if this skittishness is the result of your gang affiliation we are _so_ going to have words later."

"Thank you, sweetie," her mom says once she's regained her balance, cautiously taking the turkey from her daughter and eyeing the floor for their cat. "I knew I should have kept this thing in here instead of in the garage fridge."

Brittany is more or less wide-awake now as she follows her mom into the kitchen where she's preparing for Thanksgiving dinner, the oven preheating and giving the room a warm feeling. Her mom slides the turkey into the oven sideways so she'll be able to fit other dishes in alongside it later in the day. She turns and flicks the stove on with a twist of her wrist, heating the element under the kettle to make her daughter some hot chocolate without even asking if she wants any, pulling out a spoon from the cutlery drawer and finding a clean mug in the dishwasher, setting both beside a canister of hot chocolate she grabs from the cupboard beside the microwave. Somewhere in the house the muffled sound of a vacuum starts as Pierce begins cleaning the house for the holiday.

The dressing her mom made last night sits in a silver bowl on the counter, only half full since her mom had already stuffed the turkey earlier in the morning. Brittany leans over the counter as her mom's back is turned, stealing a bit and popping it into her mouth with a mischievous grin when her mom turns back around and fondly rolls her eyes, shaking a wooden spoon at her daughter in a mock-attempt at a reprimand as she steals some dressing for herself. A block of butter sits in the middle of the counter surrounded by the salt and pepper and coriander and cumin and garlic powder, spoon gouges etched into the yellow rectangle. Potatoes are peeled and chopped into cubes in the big soup pot on the stove, water filling it until there's no part of any potato exposed to the air. Carrots are washed in the skin, a casserole dish about a quarter of the way full of peeled carrots cut into little dimes, the honey bottle and the dill in an old margarine container nearby to make honey-dill carrots, which are Santana's favourite. Brittany reminds herself to save a ziplock container of them for her girlfriend, grinning in anticipation of the kisses she knows she'll receive for the treat.

"You're a little late on the turkey this year, mom," Brittany teases as she sits at the settles back on her stool and wipes sleep from her eyes.

Her mom sends her a sly look that Brittany would be desperately trying to interpret if it wasn't nine thirty-four in the morning on a Friday off from school, instead it just makes her mildly curious and a little sleepy. "I was talking to a friend for a little bit this morning and lost track of time," her mom explains, her blue eyes sparkling brightly.

"Oh yeah?" Brittany yawns, resting her head on her crossed arms, "Who was it?"

"A surprise," her mom answers. The kettle starts screaming and she turns to shut the stove off, spooning a couple tablespoons of hot chocolate mix into the mug and pouring the boiling water into it after.

Brittany perks up a little bit at that. "What kind of surprise?"

Whitney grins to herself as she stirs the hot chocolate, turning to face her daughter with that same sly grin in place. "Well, I was talking to a friend who wondered if I wouldn't do a favour for her daughter." Brittany really perks up at that, her mind racing with hope. "You should invite Santana over for Thanksgiving supper tonight," her mom continues conversationally.

"What? Really?" Brittany asks, bolting upright as shocked excitement paints her features in delight. "Wait, why?"

Her mom shakes her head in fondness and sets the mug in front of Brittany. Brittany grins and murmurs her thanks, wrapping her cold hands around the mug. "Maribel called this morning. She's working days today, and with everything regarding Santana's father, and since she would have usually gone to her _abuela's_ house," her mom trails off, her face pinched in pain. Brittany swallows and looks away. Even the warm mug between her fingers doesn't stop the cold chill that spreads through her body. Her mom clears her throat and reaches over to pry one of Brittany's hands from her mug and clasp it in hers. "Anyways, Maribel wondered if we wouldn't mind having her."

"Really?" Brittany squeals. "You're the best," she exclaims, barely pushing her mug to the side before she leans across the counter to pull her mom into a tight hug.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," her mom says affectionately, patting her Brittany's back, "We can't have my daughter's girlfriend going hungry on Thanksgiving."

Brittany pulls back and brightens at that, as she does every time some calls Santana her girlfriend, like she can't quite believe it. "I'm going to go get her right now!" she says, her voice echoing around the kitchen as she races for the stairs, steaming hot chocolate forgotten before she had even taken a sip. Whitney shakes her head fondly as she goes back to cutting up the carrots, knowing that honey-dill carrots been Santana's favourite dish at the Pierce's since she shyly asked for seconds back when the two girls were about six and had their very first sleepover ever. She's barely finished peeling and cutting four carrots before Brittany is racing back down the stairs and out the door with a shouted, "Be back soon, mom, love you, bye!" as the door slams shut.

Brittany debates calling Santana on the way over, but decides against it because she really wants to surprise her girlfriend. She knows the plan had been for Santana to spend the weekend with her _abuela_ , but ever since being outed at the beginning of the month, that plan had fallen completely apart, and she knows that Santana had been trying to act brave and like it didn't bother her, but she also knows how much it does bother her. And besides, she had been planning on spending the day begging her mom to let Santana come over anyway, her mom just so happened to exponentially streamline the process.

Brittany makes it Santana's house in record time, not because she was speeding or anything, but just because the streets are pretty empty at nine fifty-seven on Thanksgiving morning. She parks in the Lopez driveway and gets out of her car, locking the car from the door control so it doesn't honk out loud since she knows Santana will hear it on the off chance that she's actually awake before ten in the morning. She jogs up the sidewalk and to the front door, sliding her key into the lock and slowly pushing it open, thankful that Maribel always keeps the front door fairly well oiled since it only squeaks a little bit. She closes the door behind her and slides the lock back into place, kicking off her sneakers and throwing her letterman jacket on the coatrack beside Santana's before tiptoeing across the floor, avoiding the creaky spot by the entrance to the living room and the door to the bathroom. The door to the basement is open, and so she continues to creep down the stairs, jumping the last three since she knows they all squeak really loudly. The laundry room door is closed and the window above the storage boxes shoved in the corner casts the basement in the same hazy greyness as the weather outside.

The door to Santana's bedroom opens easily under her hands, and she takes a moment to appreciate the shape of Santana in the dim light of her bedroom. She's curled on her side, partially wrapped around her second pillow with the sheets tangled around her until nothing but her head and the curve of her bare shoulder pokes out. Brittany smiles as her heart thuds against her sternum, creeping across the room and lifting the corner of the covers, sliding in behind Santana and curling around her.

She's bed-warm and soft, smelling of faded jasmine lotion and sleep. Brittany grins when Santana shifts and snuggles back against her, inhaling deeply through her nose and sighing out a content breath. Brittany presses kisses to the shoulder under her, trailing them across Santana's neck and up behind her ear, sucking the skin there until a sleepy moan reaches her ears before she continues on, pressing kisses along Santana's jawline as she wakes and twists her head to catch Brittany's lips with her own. Her kiss is closed mouth but still a little stale with sleepy sweetness as she hums against Brittany, pulling back and letting her head fall back to the pillow as she blinks languidly up at Brittany.

"Hi," she mumbles.

"Hi," Brittany giggles, snuggling against Santana's warmth. Santana pats at Brittany, clumsy with sleep, as she hums in contentment. "I have a question to ask you."

"Hmm?" Brittany pinches Santana's side, grinning when dark eyes shoot fully open and she jerks away from Brittany's tickling hands, only succeeding in curling further into Brittany's body. "Okay, okay, I'm awake, jeez," she grumbles.

Brittany just giggles and shifts them so she's hovering over Santana. Santana's eyes darken with interest as she traces her hands over the small of Brittany's back. Brittany nudges their noses together and kisses Santana sweetly before she pulls back to catch Santana's gaze. "I was wondering," she says, mockingly serious, "if you would do me the honour of joining us Pierces for a wonderfully delicious Thanksgiving dinner?"

Santana's eyes soften at the corners, her eyes melting chocolate as she gazes up at Brittany in awe. "Oh yeah? Will there be honey-dill carrots?" she teases gently.

Brittany hums in thought. "Possibly," she grins.

"Hmm, will the munchkin be clinging to my legs the entire day?"

"Oh, most definitely."

"Will your dad make awful dad jokes all throughout supper until your mom threatens to make him eat on the porch?"

"Do you even have to ask that one?"

Santana giggles and tilts her chin back to study Brittany's face, her eyes bright and warm and adoring. "Will my wonderfully amazing girlfriend be there?"

Brittany leans down to nudge their noses together. "She'll be wherever you are," she promises.

"Love you," Santana mumbles as she tilts her chin up to capture Brittany's lips against hers, still close-mouthed and mindful of her morning breath.

Brittany doesn't really care all that much about the morning breath, but she does pull back eventually when she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. Santana sighs at the loss but allows Brittany to shift around above her and manoeuvre her phone out of her pocket, hands slowly stroking up and down Brittany's sides. Brittany finally manages to bring her phone up to eye level and lighting up the screen to read her text. Her face flushes and she groans, rolling her eyes and flopping onto the bed beside Santana.

"What?" Santana mumbles as she shifts to press her head to Brittany's shoulder, curling around her lithe body.

"My mom told me to stop making out with you and pick up some milk on the way home," she grumbles.

Santana giggles and Brittany feels her face heat up against her shoulder. "She knows us far too well."

"Yeah," Brittany agrees. Neither of them make any move to get up though, too comfortable cuddled together under Santana's sheets; at least until Brittany's next text message just reads _Brittany Susan Pierce_.

Santana laughs when Brittany shows her the message, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before ignoring Brittany's whine as she crawls out of bed and stretches. "Give me like half an hour and I'll be ready to go. I've gotta shower."

Brittany perks up, propping herself on her elbow and letting her eyes drift suggestively over Santana's body. "I also need to shower."

"Hmm, interesting," Santana murmurs as she leans over Brittany, the view down her tank top making Brittany's mouth dry. Santana hovers over her for a long moment before her face splits in a smirk and she stands up abruptly. "Should have thought of that before you came over," she teases as she saunters to her bathroom.

Brittany groans loudly and flops back on the bed. "I hate you," she calls to Santana's retreating form.

"Love you too, babe," Santana sing-songs from the bathroom.

Brittany grins at the ceiling and texts her mom back while she listens to the sounds of Santana getting ready; grumbling as she tries to brush her wild curls, the scratching sound of brushing teeth, then the shower running, and then the soft singing echoing in the bathroom. About twenty minutes later Santana comes out of the bathroom in a swirl of steam, crossing over to her dresser to pull out clean underwear. Brittany watches her appreciatively as she dresses, wolf-whistling when Santana makes a show of bending over to pull jeans from her bottom drawer, throwing a smouldering look over her shoulder but bursting immediately into giggles at Brittany's exaggerated pose, sprawled across the bed and propped up on one hand, fanning of herself and fluttering her eyes.

They're out the door almost exactly ten minutes later, staring at the freshly falling snow in awe. It's only chilly out so the snow melts into the cement of the sidewalk and driveway and street but paints the tips of the dying grass in soft white. Brittany grins and tangles her fingers with Santana's, tugging on their hands until Santana turns to her with a small smile. "It's snowing," Brittany whispers.

Santana's smile widens and she squeezes Brittany's hand briefly. "It's beautiful."

Brittany's eyes never leave Santana's as she agrees, "It really is."

Santana tilts her head to the side and glances across her yard. The snow coats the neighbourhood, thick flakes swirling through the air and catching with selective stickiness on the cars lining the streets, on top the hedges surrounding driveways, in the hard dirt of empty flowerbeds, along the railing of the porch, and against Santana's midnight hair, catching in both of their eyelashes and melting in the time it takes to blink; it paints the neighbourhood in fresh white, the scent of winter and a new beginning sharp in the air.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," Santana murmurs, and even though she doesn't elaborate, Brittany knows exactly what she's talking about.

"It's okay," Brittany promises, "you're here now, we're here together. I don't care that it took a little while. We're here now, and that's all that matters."

Santana smiles and tugs gently on Brittany's hand until she turns towards her. Her other hand cups Brittany's cheek, chilled by the air against Brittany's warm skin. "Yeah," she agrees as she rises up to press her lips to Brittany's, tasting of mint and brightness and love, "and I'm not going anywhere."

Brittany smiles against Santana's lips. "I know," she mumbles, "we're going together from now on."

Santana hums and they stand there kissing for long moments in the weak sunlight struggling to break through the snow clouds, not stopping for the cars speeding past on the wet street or the slamming of front doors echoing around the neighbourhood or the shouted greetings to distant relatives, kissing proudly in the light of day and of the public like they haven't before, kissing until Brittany's phone rings with her mom's ringtone and the content stillness around them shifts because _I know you love your girlfriend and I love her too but I really do need that milk if I'm going to finish this supper before the rest of the family gets here and also could you pick up some cranberry sauce because your father forgot again like he does every year honestly I think he's doing it on purpose_ , and, even after all that, kissing some more just because they can.

* * *

Autumn comes and goes in the quiet moments, with bright love and secret smiles in the fading summer sun while hiding themselves right in plain sight because people only ever see what they want to see, with quiet courage and glowing pride as gold leaves fall around them in unexpected acceptance even when they're forced to spill their secrets before they're ready, with the softness and innocence of the first snowfall of the year sticking to promises that never really needed to be said aloud but still are just because they can be said aloud as they shift from the shadows and into the light in the same way they've been doing everything since the start of summer, as themselves, quiet and in love.

It's at the end of autumn that Santana finally lets go of her fear.

* * *

 _"I think of the beauty in the obvious, the way it forces us to admit how it exists._

 _The way it insists on being pointed out like a bloody nose._

 _Or how every time it snows there is always someone around to say, 'It's snowing.'_

 _But the obvious isn't showing off, it's only reminding us that time passes._

 _And that somewhere along the way we must grow up._

 _Not perfect, but up and out."_

* * *

Autumn comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's quiet courage and bright love among falling leaves, loving in the shadows and loving in the florescent light, promises of _I'm not going anywhere_ and _I know, we're going together now_.

* * *

It's the end of autumn that Santana finally lets go of her fear.

* * *

November comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's crimson sunsets and migrating birds, choking fear and crumbling secrets and a freeing sense of weightlessness when fingers fully tangle together in hallways and friends surround them and block the judging eyes from their thoughts.

* * *

October comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's falling gold and red and biting wind, stolen kisses and pumpkin carvings and sudden understandings of dating as trees lose their leaves in the same way that growing self-acceptance falls into place under blue-eyed pride and love.

* * *

September comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's warm and cool, small panics that make breath catch harshly against teeth and are only soothed by warm fingers and even warmer kisses as they run towards each other instead of away for the first time.

* * *

Autumn is a new beginning hidden among falling gold and teenage thoughtlessness until all that's left is them, alone in the ash and dust of their most well-kept secret exposed in the most careless way.

It's kisses that taste a little less of fear and a little more of courage, where they can count each moment when they fall even more in love than before like they can count falling leaves, until they lose track of the number as it nears infinity.

* * *

It's at the start of autumn that Brittany finally lets go of her fear.

* * *

 _"We'll always have the obvious._

 _It reminds us who and where we are._

 _It lives like a heart shaped liked a jar that we hand to others and ask, 'Can you open this for me?'_

 _We always get the same answer: 'Not without breaking it.'_

 _More often than sometimes, I say 'Go for it.' "_

* * *

 _"Britt-Britt?" Santana asks, peaking around the wooden post holding up the side of the playground. "Where'd you go?"_

 _A sniffle leads Santana to crouch down and half-crawl half-walk under the playground, following the sound of what she hopes is her best friend, but also hopes it isn't because sniffles usually mean crying and Santana hates it when Brittany cries because it makes her feel all helpless and panicked. "Britty?" Santana tries again._

 _"I'm under here, San," a muffled voice calls. Santana's heart flutters in her chest like hummingbird wings at the miserable sound as she crouches down further to crawl into the shadowy underbelly of the playground, for once glad to be one of the smallest people in their grade as she easily inches under the wooden platforms. Wet sand from the fading summer rain that morning clings to her jean overalls and chills her knees and palms._

 _A flash of blonde glows through the darkness as Santana reaches her best friend. Her arms are wrapped around her legs, curling herself as small as possible, as she buries her face into her knees, her shoulders shaking every so often with a sniffle or a hiccup. "Britt-Britt," Santana whispers, "what's wrong?" She can feel her heartbeat pound in her fingertips as she brushes them along Brittany's arm. Brittany raises her head with a sniffle, blue eyes dull and watery, tear-tracks glowing faintly in the dim light under the playground._

 _Kids shriek above them as they run across the wooden platforms, and Santana reaches forward, pulling Brittany into her arms and shielding her from the sand raining down on them from the pounding feet on the wood above. "Hey, it's okay," Santana coos against blonde hair, "I'm here."_

 _Brittany shudders against her, releasing her legs to wrap her arms tightly around Santana and burying her face in Santana's neck. Wetness immediately coats Santana's skin, making it feel tight and sticky, as Brittany hiccups against her. Santana continues to coo in Brittany's ear, stroking her hands up and down Brittany's back, turning their faces down again as pounding feet sends another shower of sand over them._

 _"It's okay, Britt-Britt," she mumbles, "I'm here now, you're okay."_

 _Brittany nods against her and tightens her arms around Santana, clinging to the back of her jean overalls as she shifts closer like she's trying to crawl into her body. Santana's heartbeat continues to hammer as she desperately tries to calm her best friend, wishing more than anything that Brittany would stop crying, willing to give all of the birthday gifts and Christmas gifts she's ever gotten back just to see Brittany smile again._

 _Another shower of sand rains down on them and Santana pulls them further into the cool gloom, hoping that the darker shadows will protect them from the sporadic cascades of sand. Brittany follows her willingly, curling against Santana in the dark, hugging her sideways with her long legs thrown over Santana's lap, her head resting on a bony shoulder and her hands still clinging to jean fabric._

 _"He called me stupid," Brittany mumbles against Santana's neck._

 _Santana immediately stiffens, her hands flexing against Brittany's back as a scowl spreads across her face. "Who did?" she growls._

 _"I dunno," Brittany answers, snuggling further against her best friend, "some third grader, I think."_

 _"I'll beat him up," Santana answers without even thinking about it._

 _Brittany smiles softly; Santana can feel the shape of it against her neck. "Tana, you can't beat everyone up."_

 _"I can beat up people who are mean to you," Santana says confidently, "it's part of the best friend code."_

 _"Is that a real thing?" Brittany asks suspiciously._

 _Santana shrugs and plays with the hem of Brittany's shirt. "Sure it is, I created it for you and me, 'cause we're best friends and people aren't allowed to be mean to you."_

 _Brittany giggles, tugging Santana closer to her so she's almost on Santana's lap, releasing one hand from her hold on Santana's overalls to wipe the tears from her face. "I don't really remember what he looks like though."_

 _Santana hums against Brittany's hair. "Doesn't matter. I'll find him."_

 _Brittany shakes her head as she giggles again, settling her arms back around Santana again once her face is mostly dry. Santana continues to play with Brittany's shirt, twisting it between nimble fingers only to smooth the wrinkles out a moment later. Another pounding of feet above them sends more sand showering down, except Santana was right about the shadows being protective because the sand only falls in front of them and not on them._

 _Brittany takes a deep breath and shifts against Santana, turning her head so her face is pressed against Santana's neck again. "It made me feel weird, when he called me stupid, like my body was too big for my skin, or maybe like I was too small for my body, you know?"_

 _Santana thinks back to last week when Brittany was teaching her to dance in the shady grass beside the school during their last recess of the day, her pink tongue sticking out in concentration as she muttered numbers under her breath and led Santana through the steps with seven-year old clumsiness; their hands clasped together, Brittany's left in Santana's right, their other hands staggered over a shoulder and against a hip, feet tripping over each other as Santana stumbled into Brittany, sending both of them giggling. She thinks back to the group of fifth graders strutting past them and how the hair on the back of her neck had tingled as they sneered at her and Brittany, of how the leader of the group had stepped forwards, arms crossed and glaring gleefully as Santana and Brittany's hands fell from the other's body until they only remained connected by their hands as the kid had opened his mouth and started scornfully calling them names until a teacher had seen the group cornering two terrified second graders against the school and rushed over._

 _Santana thinks of the names the older kid called them and how they made Santana's skin hot and prickly even though she didn't know what they meant, and how it made her hand drop from Brittany's like it burned. She thinks of how it made something in her stomach twist and her skin crawl like it does when mud sticks to it, like something dirty and wet, except this time it was something itching at her from the inside out. She thinks of how the older kid's sneer sounded exactly like her papi's when he saw those two men swinging a little girl between them in the grocery store the day before, muttering_ Esto es una vergüenza _under his breath as he tugged Santana away. She thinks of how the disgust on her papi's face made her stomach plummet and twist itself into knots and heat crawl under her skin, something that was only soothed later when, after a heated whisper-yelled argument between her parents, her mami had crept into her room and rubbed Santana's stomach until she fell into a fitful sleep, images of her papi's sneer and those two men and bright blue eyes floating behind her eyelids._

 _"Yeah," Santana finally murmurs, "I know what you mean."_

 _"I didn't like it," Brittany mutters._

 _"I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you, Britt-Britt," Santana admits._

 _Brittany sits up a little, leaning back so she can catch Santana's gaze. Santana's a little startled by how blue her eyes are, even in the dim shadows. "It's okay, San," Brittany promises, "You're here now. That's all that matters."_

 _Santana takes a deep breath and smiles widely at her best friend. "Yeah," she agrees, "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."_

* * *

It's on a cool autumn day that Santana feels real fear for the first time.

It's a week later that Brittany feels real fear for the first time too.

* * *

It's at the start of autumn that Brittany finally lets go of her fear.

It's at the end of autumn that Santana finally lets go of her fear.


	3. that winter you left me snow-blind

**Notes: I know, like, nothing about USA high schools and USA college applications since I've been graduated for a couple years and all knowledge of high school has since been replaced by literally anything else, and also I'm from Canada. And when I looked it up it was done after six days straight of work so it wasn't very in depth lol.**

 **Also, I started writing this mostly to be pure fluff with only a little bit of angst, and since this part does cover "On My Way," I decided to focus on the deleted scene with the bridesmaids dresses and in my mind it's set before all the other parts of the episode because I know there was a lot of controversy over Karofsky's storyline and the ending with Quinn, so I just decided to leave all of that out.**

 **Chapter title and excerpts from "Weather Reports" by Shane Koyczan.**

* * *

 _Chapter 3: that winter you left me snow-blind_

* * *

 _"I still find it funny how when I love you can be reduced to a weather report._

 _I sort through the memories of that day and I'm comforted by the fact that you used to say,_

 _'Affection is in the details'_

 _So I said, 'wear that toque,' the one that doesn't fit you quite right._

 _The one that makes you look like beauty is something you can put aside for a moment that lasts just long enough._

 _It lets you handcuff your makeup to the bathroom mirror, lets you leave your eyeshadow behind._

 _Lets you find your way back to me because today I need you quicker than lipstick will allow._

 _I need you like this second is going to run out any minute and it's already starting to feel like half past now."_

* * *

Winter is the bitter cold and dark evenings that are broken only by learning how to keep each other warm with their love, and it's the hint of hot chocolate and candy canes in mistletoe kisses. It's the red and green and gold decorations across the town that are the only spots of colour in the white snow and grey sky, and it's waking up to cold noses pressed to bed-warm skin from the frigid night and knowing that the only thing keeping you warm is your love. It's fresh beginnings and somehow familiar mysteries in the weak sunlight that tries it's hardest to melt all the cold hearts of winter, and it's the softest moments in between all the stress and fast moving world. It's the bright joy of the holidays and the unforgiving unfairness of the frozen town, and it's as bittersweet and bright as giving someone the sun and the moon and the stars, so close and yet still so far away.

Winter is the time when they finally let out a sigh of relief, and when they don't have to be anyone but them outside of their houses for the first time. Winter is the time when they feel the warmth of acceptance for the first time. Winter is the time for laughter and joy to chase the cold from their hearts and it's the first time they don't feel that choking fear they're used to because in it's place is the other's smile and bright eyes.

It's at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

* * *

"I'm thirsty," Santana announces loudly.

Brittany smirks and waggles her eyebrows at her girlfriend, bouncing up on her knees and looming over Santana.

Santana giggles and shoves Brittany's face away from hers. "Not like that, you dork. For _water_."

Brittany pouts and collapses on top of Santana, sprawling over her girlfriend so she's wrapped around her, their legs tangled hopelessly together and bodies pressed so close there's no space between them. She nuzzles into Santana's neck and gives the skin against her lips a warning nip. "You mean you don't want this?"

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. "I always want you, Britt," she breathes, and then shakes her head to try and clear her distraction as Brittany rolls a little to the side so she can free her hands and let her hands wander Santana's hips, her fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt (which is actually Brittany's shirt, and that thought sends a tiny thrill through Brittany). "But not when my mom's upstairs," Santana continues after long moments of trying to breath normally.

"Never stopped us before," Brittany rasps directly into Santana's ear, delighting in the shudder that runs through her girlfriend.

"That was before—" Santana's breath hitches when Brittany licks at the skin behind her ear. "Before she knew about us."

"Mmm," Brittany agrees against Santana's skin, mouthing along the arch of her neck and landing on her collarbone.

"Besides," Santana breathes, her fingers tightening in Brittany's shirt, twisting the fabric, "she'll be leaving for work in, like, fifteen minutes and then— Then we don't have to worry about it."

Brittany trails her mouth back up Santana's neck towards her jawline, leaving wet kisses in her wake. She sucks gently at a fading bruise from days ago, one that had reappeared after Santana washed her face free of makeup a couple hours ago, before the start of their lazy movie night, before kissing a path to Santana's lips, breathing her "Fine" hotly into the mouth under hers and chasing it with her tongue.

When she finally pulls back, Santana looks breathless and dreamy. Brittany smirks down at Santana, her grin widening when Santana blinks rapidly and shakes her head a little. She pouts up at Brittany. "Just for that, you get to go on the water run."

Brittany's grin softens at her adorable girlfriend, dark curls spread across the pillow, eyes deep and open and content, lips swollen from an evening of kisses, dimples creasing full cheeks; it's really not her fault that she has to kiss Santana again. "Do you want ice?" she asks when she pulls back.

Santana's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh no, Britt, it's fine, I'll go get it."

Brittany silences her with a long kiss and jumps up off the bed before Santana can respond or untangle herself from the blanket wrapped around her legs, grabbing the two empty glasses from the bedside table. Santana collapses back with a dramatic sigh and squints at Brittany. "Ice, please," she says. Brittany gives her a deep bow, arms spread wide, before grinning and skipping out the door, Santana's giggles following her into the rest of the basement and up the stairs.

Brittany can hear Santana's mom from the stairwell and she pauses in the doorway, halfway in the stairwell and halfway in the hallway. Brittany can't quite hear what Maribel is saying from where she's standing, but her voice is low and almost dangerous as it echoes and distorts down the hallway. Brittany moves forward slightly until she's fully in the hallway, straining to hear Maribel's voice and remain hidden because whatever is going on Brittany really doesn't want to interrupt. Maribel is on the phone, pacing in the dimly lit kitchen. The light above the kitchen sink casts the room in a warm glow; the kitchen's just down the hall from the basement doorway and Maribel disappears from Brittany's view every couple of steps. She's got her phone clutched tight against the side of her head, her shoulders tense, exactly like Santana when she talks to her father or that one awful uncle of hers.

"Julio, I could not care less that you don't approve," Maribel's voice is sharp and acid, harsher than Brittany's ever heard her in almost thirteen years, "Yes, she is gay, and no, it was nothing _I_ did wrong. Even if you had fought for custody and raised her instead of me she would still be gay. It has nothing to do with either of us."

Brittany's insides churn and she gulps a deep breath, pressing herself against the hallway wall; her knuckles are white where she's clutching the glasses in her hands. She's not really sure what she feels right now, but she knows that she _really_ hates whatever it is. It's almost the same twisting feeling she got when she heard Josh Coleman sneering at Santana by their lockers all those weeks ago, or when she felt the leering gaze of some of the football team on the back of her head when Santana linked their hands in the hallway, or the wary looks of some of the Cheerios in the change room before practice, but somehow the twisting feeling now is so much worse.

Maribel stops talking for a long moment, and when she speaks again it's with a low, burning anger that reminds Brittany of the time a senior made fun of her back in freshmen year; it was how Santana first earned her reputation of being a bitch, and it was how McKinley first learned that nobody messed with Brittany unless they wanted to get on Santana's bad side.

"Yes, Brittany is still allowed over," Maribel hisses. Something thick tickles along Brittany's throat until it feels a lot like she's choking. "Why wouldn't I let my daughter's girlfriend spend time with her? I don't fucking care about what you think is _proper,_ I will do whatever I want in _my_ house. Brittany makes her happy so of course she's allowed over." There's another drawn out pause. Brittany shifts a little, trying to quietly shake feeling back into her legs because they seem to have gone numb. She never realized how loud silence could be until this very moment.

"Yeah, well she may be your daughter but right now you're not acting like her father." There's a weird shuffling sound as Maribel stops talking suddenly. She's scowling when she comes back into view, her phone still clutched in her hand but no longer pressed to her ear. She stops at the island and sighs deeply, running her free hand over her face, elbows perched near the edge of the counter and head hanging low. Brittany tries to keep her breathing silent as she starts to sneak back through the basement doorway to escape back to Santana's room, but her knee bumps against the wall and sends a soft echoing boom along the hallway and makes picture frames rattle gently.

"Brittany?" Maribel asks in surprise, her head shooting up. "How long were you standing there?"

"Um," Brittany says, shifting back and forth on her feet as she turns to squint down the hallway towards the kitchen. "Not long," she finally manages, but they both know how awful she is at lying.

Maribel sighs and sets her phone on the counter before gesturing for Brittany to join her at the kitchen island. Brittany hesitates but warily walks down the hall towards her. She sets the glasses on the counter and leans against it. Maribel looks tired, the kind of bone-tired that can't be solved by sleep. She can see the ghost of junior-year-Santana in her dark eyes and tight smile, the twisting hands and clenched jaw.

Brittany shifts her weight back and forth before kicking one leg behind her other. "That was Dr. Lopez?" she finally asks.

Maribel sighs and presses the thumb and forefinger of her left hand against her eyes before she nods.

"Santana said he didn't— When she told him about— That he was—"

Maribel drops her hand from her eyes and gives Brittany a small smile. She straightens and rounds the island and pulls Brittany into a hug. Brittany sighs and relaxes into Maribel, sinking into her embrace and bending down to bury her face in Maribel's shoulder; she's known it since she was five years old, but she still marvels at the fact that Maribel gives hugs as comforting as her own mom and dad's and as fiercely loving as Santana's. "I'm just glad you love Santana so well," Maribel whispers against Brittany's hair.

Brittany swallows thickly and focuses on how her heart pounds against her sternum. "She makes loving really easy," Brittany says honestly.

Maribel pulls back, her hands on Brittany's shoulders, her chin jutting forward slightly to look up at Brittany. "Santana's father is," she hesitates for a long moment before continuing, "stuck in his ways. He's his mother's son, as is his brother, and I don't know if they will ever fully come around; and even if they do, they've hurt Santana so much already," she trails off, blinking rapidly. Brittany tactfully doesn't mention the wetness shining in Maribel's eyes. "I hope they do though, for Santana's sake, but if they don't, how about you and I make a deal?"

Brittany smiles a little and inclines her head in acknowledgement, having a faint idea that she's going to like this deal.

"If they don't come around," Maribel proposes, "and even in the case that they do, how about you and I love Santana enough for all of them."

Brittany's smile widens and she nods eagerly. "I think that's, like, the best plan ever," she agrees.

Maribel smiles and pulls back from Brittany, subtlety catching a tear with the side of her finger as she turns away. "Perfect. Now, I have to get to work, did you come to refill your water?" Brittany nods and moves to grab the glasses off the island but stops when Maribel waves her off. "Do you girls need more snacks?" Brittany shakes her head, thinking of the half-finished bowl of popcorn sitting on the floor beside Santana's bed and the unopened bag of M&M's that probably got shoved under the pillows when they forgot about the movie on her laptop and started kissing instead.

She runs her hand over the edge of the counter, digging the nail of her thumb into the nicks there from even before Maribel and Santana moved in as she waits for Maribel to fill their glasses with ice and water. "Thanks," she murmurs as Maribel passes them to her.

"Anytime, Brittany," she replies, and the way dark eyes bore into blue makes Brittany think she doesn't just mean the glasses of water.

"Have a good night at work," Brittany says with a small smile.

"Thanks," Maribel offers gratefully, "Tell Santana goodbye and I love her for me."

"I will. Bye, Maribel," Brittany says as she lifts a glass of water in a wave, walking quickly back down the stairs to allow Maribel a couple moments to compose herself before she heads to the hospital.

As she descends she can hear the faint sounds of Santana singing drifting through the basement. Brittany pauses at the bottom of the stairs and smiles, tiptoeing towards Santana's room, the door slightly ajar. She sets the glasses down on the floor beside the doorway before leaning close to it and peaking through the crack. She can just see Santana standing in front of her dresser, her head bobbing as she sings under her breath, snippets of an old song Brittany knows her mom used to sing when both Lopez women were younger and more untroubled.

" _Where is the reason? Don't blame it on me, blame it on my wild heart._ " She's fiddling with something on her dresser, fingers delicately tracing something in her hand that Brittany can't see from this angle, her voice rasping over the words of the song, raw and quiet and powerful in a way that makes Brittany's soul tremble no matter how many times she's heard it. Brittany slowly pushes the door open, creeping into the bedroom lit by the golden light of Santana's bedside lamp. " _As to the seasons, you fought from the beginning, long before I knew it._ " She's almost at Santana now, though she still can't see what Santana is so carefully looking at. " _There was danger. And the danger was to fall in love—_ Ah!"

Brittany giggles into Santana's ear, her arms snaking around Santana's waist as her girlfriend jumps and screams in surprise. Whatever was in Santana's hands — a jewellery box, Brittany realizes now — is slammed shut and thrown onto the dresser where it hits the mirror and falls between the wall and the back of the dresser. "Brittany!" Santana shrieks through her shocked laughter, "You've gotta stop that unless you really want to stop my heart."

"I'm just making us even because my heart stops every time you look at me," Brittany whispers against the shell of Santana's ear.

"Britt-Britt," Santana sighs dreamily, melting back into her girlfriend's arms, "I love you."

Brittany giggles and tightens her arms around Santana, nuzzling her face against Santana's warm neck. "I love you too, San." Santana tips her head to the side and presses back into Brittany, allowing her to settle comfortably against her girlfriend, the reflection of her smile wide and uninhibited in the mirror. "Now," Brittany says slowly, drawing out the vowel and tugging on Santana's stomach until she fits even more snugly into the curve of Brittany's hips, "what were you looking at?"

Santana's smile widens. "Nothing you have to worry about," she promises, tickling her fingers along Brittany's arms.

Brittany settles her chin against Santana's shoulder so she can pout at the other girl in the mirror. "C'mon, Santana," she whines, "I wanna know."

Santana laughs and turns her head so she can press a wet, smacking kiss against Brittany's cheek, catching the corner of Brittany's eye and making her giggle at the ticklish feeling of lips against her eyelashes. "You'll find out soon, babe."

Brittany tries to rearrange her face back into a pout but knows she fails miserably when Santana just continues to grin at her in the mirror. "Promise?"

Santana gently raps her fingers across Brittany's arms once, twice, three times before spinning in them and throwing her arms over Brittany's shoulders, pressing a series of quick kisses against thin lips and a lightly freckled chin.

"I promise, Britt-Britt."

* * *

December is white and pretty, long before the pristine snow turns to the grey and brown slush of spring; it's coloured lights and bright wreaths, snow-globes and tinsel, it's joyful laughter and rich wonder, it's the hint of hot chocolate kisses under mistletoe and joking croons of old carols whispered against ears, and it's the last month of the year, where kids start to dream of Santa Claus and adults start to dream of a fresh start.

* * *

Santana would never admit it because she _does_ still have a reputation to maintain, but she really loves Christmas. Or, actually, she really loves the weeks leading up to Christmas. There's just something soothing about the build up to Christmas, where everything is a little magical and excitement hangs over Lima, as heavy as the dark snow clouds gathering over the town.

It's the sound of her mom humming Christmas songs in the kitchen as she bakes old family recipes from memory, the scent of cinnamon and ginger and sage and rosemary that fills the Pierce household and clings to Brittany's Cheerios uniform, the dumb rotation of ugly sweaters that Sam goes through on the last week of school before break. It's the old Christmas songs that play faintly over the speakers of the grocery store whenever Brittany and Santana make a movie-snack-trip, the sharp taste of candy canes against her lips when a giggling Brittany tugs her into the entryway of the kitchen and points up at the mistletoe dangling above them (as if she ever needs an excuse to kiss Brittany), the munchkin's excited chattering about her letter to Santa and how much she would _really like a hot chocolate from the Lima Bean and I even have my own allowance money to pay if you guys take me_ _please and thank you 'Tana._ She even likes the cheesy cycle of Christmas songs that the Glee kids sing through the entire month of December because she can unabashedly cuddle up to Brittany in the back or dance with her in front of the Christmas tree anytime she wants without any hint of the prickling shame and fear from the last couple years.

But the best part, the absolute _best_ part, of the weeks leading up to Christmas is definitely Brittany. Of course, Santana thinks Brittany is devastatingly beautiful and amazing year round, and her breath still catches every time those smiling blue eyes turn her way, but there's just something about how excited Brittany gets for Christmas that makes Santana's insides all gooey and melty. Sometimes if Santana stares hard enough into those blue eyes she thinks she can see the future spread out before them, a future of years and years and years of Christmases ahead of them to match the years and years of Christmases already behind them. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been caught daydreaming during English of a day when they could curl up with some eggnog on their very own couch in front of their very own Christmas tree in their very own apartment.

(She would also be lying if she said she hadn't daydreamed of a couple of blue-eyed bundles of excitement with dark hair tumbling over their shoulders as they danced around the Christmas tree hoping for Santa Claus to visit, but those are dreams for a different time because, after denying them for so long, it almost feels like too much to hope for.)

Of course, the worst part is that Brittany and her family are going to Santa Fe this year instead of her grandparents coming up like they usually do (something about her grandpa starting new medications and needing to stay close to his doctor, or at least that's what Brittany said her mom said). Now, instead of looking forward to their first Christmas as a couple, Christmas for Santana will feel a little bit lonely since it will just be Santana and her mom and her mom's favourite sister (who is, not un-coincidentally, also Santana's favourite aunt). It's not like it will be awful or anything, it's just that usually Santana gets to spend Christmas Eve with Brittany and her family opening gifts and helping Pierce Pierce eat Santa's cookies and drink his milk before she goes to midnight mass with her abuela and mess of cousins and aunts and uncles, and then she usually gets to spend the rest of Christmas Day with her mom and her favourite aunt and the rest of her father's huge side of the family at abuela's house eating and laughing. (Her father is rarely not scheduled to work on Christmas Eve and Day, but Santana's pretty sure he just purposefully picks up shifts those days and, well, Santana tries to not speculate on why he elects not to spend Christmas with his only daughter every year because she's trying her hardest to be more positive.)

Of course this year—

Well, this year Santana is pretty positive that she's no longer welcome at midnight mass, and even less so at her abuela's house. But her mom got the lucky draw of her work scheduling this year and isn't working Christmas at all, and her aunt always has really cool stories about her travels and even cooler presents; and, as an even better bonus, when she came out to her aunt a couple weeks ago her only response was _well, duh, tell me something I don't know. Now let me tell you about these wild people I met last week._ (Her aunt's not only her favourite aunt, but also a pretty cool person in general, to be completely honest.)

And it's because of all this, that she can't quite control her pout when Brittany tells her that she's leaving for Santa Fe on the twenty-second and won't be back until the twenty-eighth. Santana's pout is only rivalled by Brittany's pout as she delivers the news, already feeling guilty for abandoning Santana during Christmas when she knows how hard it will be for her girlfriend.

Santana sighs dramatically and teasingly when she tells Brittany _It's okay, really, Britt-Britt_ for about the fifth time since they found out last week and decided to exchange Christmas gifts on the twenty-first, after their last day of school and before Santana's mom gets home from work that evening. Santana's melodrama is treated to a fond eye roll and warm, candy cane flavoured kisses in apology. Santana's hands slide across Brittany's sides, her fingers just dipping under Brittany's sweater, when the kettle starts screaming and Brittany regretfully pulls away to shut the stove off and save their ears.

Brittany always makes hot chocolate with the kettle instead of the Keruig because _it just tastes better that way, Santana, stop smiling at me like that, it's true and you know it._ Santana smiles softly at Brittany's back as she gets educated on the proper hot chocolate brewing etiquette; she's positive if she weren't already head over heels in love with Brittany she would definitely be falling deeply in love right now because it isn't possible anyone's ever looked more adorable than Brittany does right now, licking cinnamon speckled whipped cream off her top lip, as she turns and offers Santana a mug.

They take their mugs to the living room where their presents for each other are sitting temptingly on the coffee table. Brittany settles on one end of the couch and grins when Santana immediately sits right beside her and curls up against Brittany's always warm body. Brittany hides her delighted grin with a sip of her hot chocolate as she wraps her arm around Santana and tugs her even closer as they start their last after school complaining about dumb high schoolers until the new year.

They're done their hot chocolate and sitting crosslegged, their knees overlapping each other's, by the time they get to complaining about the glee club. Santana never mentions it, because _reputation_ , but over the years her ridiculing has slowly turned into mostly fond teasing; Brittany never mentions it because Santana is actually really adorable when she pretends to be all tough and bitchy.

"I still can't believe you convinced them that you still believe in Santa last year," Santana says with a dramatic eye roll.

Brittany turns wide, distressed eyes on her, her pretty pink lips parted in shock. "Wait, you mean he's not real?"

Santana giggles and shoves at Brittany's shoulder. "C'mon, you goofball," she laughs.

Brittany maintains her façade for about five more seconds before she curls over in laughter, her face smooshed against Santana's shaking thigh. "And they think I'm the dumb one," she jokes into Santana's lap.

Santana runs her fingers through the blonde hair spread across her legs. "You're a genius, Britt," she says easily, like it's one of those things that she's always ready to say, like her name or that one plus one is two or the fact that she is hopelessly in love with one Brittany S. Pierce. Brittany grins and presses a kiss to Santana's thigh. "An _evil_ genius," Santana amends from above her.

Brittany giggles and presses another kiss to the thigh under her face before sitting up. "I'm pretty sure even the munchkin knows that Santa isn't real because he's actually about five-foot-five, and also Korean, and also our dad."

"She just keeps pretending for the extra presents, right?"

Brittany runs her index finger down Santana's nose before playfully tapping the tip. "Ye _p_ ," she agrees, popping the _p_ , "I'm pretty sure she learned that trick from you."

Santana smirks and tips her head back in pride. "That's my girl."

"Speaking of Santa Claus," Brittany says, her eyes glowing as she glances slyly at Santana, taking her empty mug out of her hands and setting it with Brittany's own on the coffee table, subtly nudging the presents with the back of her hands as she goes. Santana stifles a giggle behind her and Brittany shoots her a pouting, pleading look over her shoulder. "Presents?"

"Hmm, let me think," Santana teases, her face thoughtful but a smile twitching the corners of her mouth.

"Santana," Brittany whines, flopping back on the couch so she's sprawled partially across the cushions and mostly across Santana, "C'mon you're killing me."

Santana laughs and twists slightly so she can hover her face over Brittany's. "Well, we can't have that," she says before pressing a long kiss to Brittany's mouth.

"Mmm," Brittany hums when Santana pulls away. "Presents now?"

Santana's laughter is a breath of chocolatey air across Brittany's face as she rolls her eyes fondly. "Presents now," she agrees, leaning back.

"Okay!" Brittany says brightly, bouncing slightly on her seat. "Open mine first," she insists, reaching across Santana to grab her present from the coffee table. Santana grins adoringly at her girlfriend; Brittany may love Christmas and getting gifts, but she always gets even more excited to give people her own. She has always been impatient for people to open her gifts and see their reaction, to the point that, when they were young, her parents would have to hide her own presents after she wrapped them so she wouldn't take them and start giving them out early.

Brittany offers Santana her present with a soft smile as she leans back, her eyes so bright and beautiful that Santana can't really help it when she leans forward to peck Brittany's cheek as she passes her. Brittany's present is thin and square, wrapped in penguins with Santa hats exchanging their own gifts, the same wrapping paper that Santana and the munchkin picked out last year when she took her Christmas shopping since both Brittany's parents were working. It feels both delicate and sturdy in Santana's hands, and she flips it over to find a seam of wrapping paper, sliding her nail carefully under the edge and popping the tape open with a soft ripping sound. There's movement out of the corner of her eye and she glances up with a grin, pausing to admire how Brittany squirms impatiently while she watches Santana painstakingly peel back the wrapping paper.

Brittany catches her gaze and pouts. "C'mon, Santana," she whines, and who's Santana to refuse such an adorable expression? She quickly rips the rest of the paper away, revealing a beige cover, slightly worn at the edges, the album name scrawled delicately across the front, black and white figures frozen in pose. Santana traces one finger delicately under the script, feeling tears gather as her fingertip carefully maps out _Rumours,_ before managing to look up at Brittany.

Brittany's eyes are wide and bright, her lower lip caught between her teeth, as she meets Santana's gaze. "I know you used to listen to it on the record player with your abeulo before he passed away, and then your— Your abeula always played it when you were over but because of— Well, with everything, I know you were worried about not being able to listen to it again the same way so I thought— I mean, know it's a little worn, but my grandparents were overjoyed to let me have it to give to you," Brittany trails off uncertainly as Santana's silence stretches on. "I mean, if you don't like it I can— I mean I probably shouldn't have assumed—"

Santana cuts Brittany off with a fierce, slightly teary kiss, breathing an _I love you_ against her lips. "I love it," she whispers, pulling back to gasp in a breath and letting her forehead rest against Brittany's, "I love it almost as much as I love you. I mean you—" Santana breathes in shakily, "You knew exactly what I wanted before I did. I don't know how but you—" Santana cuts herself off and instead presses another deep kiss to Brittany's lips.

"So you like it?" Brittany ensures breathlessly when they break apart. Santana gives a watery laugh and nods. "Good," Brittany says with a smile, lifting her hands and catching Santana's tears with her thumbs.

Santana smiles again and presses a kiss to each of Brittany's palms before sniffling and frowning a little. "Uh, Britt?"

"Mmm?"

"I love it, so much. But, um, I don't have a record player."

Brittany frowns deeply. "Yeah, you do," she says in confusion, "your mom got— Oh my God forget you just opened that." Brittany frantically starts shoving wrapping paper back over the large album cover, as if the shredded penguin paper would erase the gift from Santana's memory.

"I— Britt, what are you—" Santana freezes, her mouth hanging open. "Wait, you mean—"

"Nope!" Brittany says loudly over her. "Nothing! You don't know about it! You didn't see anything!"

"Britt—"

"Nu-uh!" Brittany interrupts again, still trying to re-cover the album with wrapping paper. "Nothing at all. I didn't even get you a gift this year."

Santana laughs and stills Brittany's hands, waiting until wide blue eyes meet hers to speak. "It's okay, Britt-Britt," Santana soothes, running her thumbs over Brittany's hands. "I can pretend," she says with a wide, adoring smile, "I'll just act surprised when I open it."

Brittany groans and drops her head. "I can't believe I just did that. I didn't even think about the fact that you wouldn't have opened your mom's gift yet."

"Hey," Santana giggles, tugging on Brittany's hands, "I love you."

Brittany rolls her eyes at herself but smiles at Santana. "Even when I ruin the surprise?"

Santana leans forward to press her forehead to Brittany's. "Especially then," she promises.

Brittany sighs out a breath full of laughter before tipping her chin up slightly to catch Santana's lips. She lets the kiss linger for a long moment, nipping at Santana's lips and soothing the sting with her tongue, before pulling back with a cheeky grin. "My turn then?" she asks.

Santana laughs and pecks Brittany's lips again before carefully setting the album on the coffee table, crumbling the penguin paper up into a ball and tossing it towards the entryway of the living room. "Your turn," she agrees as she reaches for Brittany's present, only hesitating for a split second before grabbing it.

Brittany notices the hesitation and the flash of fear in Santana's eyes but doesn't say anything, instead letting her fingers trail softly over Santana's as she takes the gift from her girlfriend's hands.

The present is soft and squishy, crinkling the snowman covered paper as Brittany prods at it. She gives Santana a quick grin as she starts to rip into the paper, wondering what could possibly have her girlfriend so worried. The tear in the paper reveals a stuffed duck, it's material soft and fuzzy, with a small sailor's hat on its head and a blue and white necktie around it's neck. Brittany smiles at the stuffie, hugging the duck to her chest and nuzzling into the soft fuzz. "Aww, he's adorable," she coos as she glances up at Santana.

"Check—" Santana rasps, pausing to clear her throat, her eyes wide and still just a little bit scared, "Check the necktie."

Brittany shoots Santana a quick, comforting smile before lifting a hand to probe the duck's neck. Her fingers hit something solid and she pauses, glancing up at Santana with wide eyes. Santana manages a weak smile and nods at the stuffed duck. Brittany swallows thickly as she brushes her fingers over cold metal again, carefully untying the duck's necktie and letting two earrings fall into her hand. They're small gold hoops, each band twisted into an infinity loop at the front, lightly covered in sparkling silver gems that catch the light and wink up at Brittany. The infinity loop turns and tucks into itself, neatly emerging into the rest of the hoop on the other side and reconnecting seamlessly to the soft gold metal. Brittany opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She just looks up at Santana, who seems to be scarcely breathing and wringing her hands rather forcefully, and wordlessly shakes her head at her girlfriend.

"It's— I thought—" Santana pauses and gulps in a breath before giving Brittany a shaky smile. "When I get you a ring, I want it to be _it_ , you know?" Brittany manages to blink, but the rest of her body remains frozen still, even while her heart and soul trembles. "And I saw those at the mall and I was thinking about that day in glee with the first partner assignment and I thought— Even though it isn't time for that yet and neither of us are ready because we haven't even graduated, I still wanted to make you a promise that one day— One day we will be. One day we'll be there and it will be time and I'll have a ring and it will be _it._ " Santana breathes deeply and Brittany tries to force herself into motion, except she's stuck staring into dark eyes she somehow has, just at that moment, fallen impossibly more in love with in than ever before. Santana laughs breathlessly and nervously at herself, scratching at the skin under her eye. "I'm not really making a lot of sense am I?"

Brittany opens her mouth to respond but the words don't come. Instead she reaches forward and wraps her fingers around Santana's wrist, drawing a heart with her index finger.

"Do you remember that day? The one with the ballad assignment?" Santana asks. Brittany nods wordlessly. "Do you remember when we went home and I was getting so frustrated with that ridiculous math question?" Santana swallows thickly and musters a soft, watery smile when Brittany nods again. "Do you remember what you told me? About limits and infinity?"

Brittany laughs breathlessly and swipes at a stray tear. "It's like pulling a duck from a hat," she murmurs.

Santana's eyes are deep and dark and endless. "No one else would have understood, but I just— That was the moment I did. That's when I got it. And it took me some time to get my shit together," Santana gives a small laugh and half-shrugs, "and accept it but I know what you meant back then."

Brittany's smile starts to hurt her cheeks as she reaches forwards to pull Santana tight against her, the earrings in one hand and the stuffed duck in the other, pressing her face into the junction between Santana's neck and shoulder and breathing in deeply. Santana's hands clutch at Brittany's sweater and Brittany feels her press a long kiss to the side of her head.

"I meant that I'll love you forever," Brittany whispers into Santana's skin.

Because Brittany understands things like limits and infinity and forever, and her teachers always tell her that the best way to learn something is to teach it to someone else, and Brittany understands that she's the luckiest person in the world for just for the chance to spend the rest of her life teaching Santana how to pull ducks out of hats.

* * *

December comes and goes in the quiet moments, with late nights long after the sun's gone down and late mornings spent curled into each other under the comforter, with cold noses pressed into bed-warm skin, with ugly Christmas sweaters and twinkling ornaments and gift exchanges neither one would have thought possible back in sophomore year, with crinkled wrapping paper and old family baking and even older songs, with both melancholy for those lost through death and estrangement and gratitude for those who stayed and loved through it all.

* * *

Brittany is used to babysitting her sister, and if she's being honest, her sister is actually a really great excuse for when she doesn't want to go out. If she tells someone that she's got to babysit and can't go out, they send her pitying looks and apologetic _that sucks_ but they don't press the matter. The munchkin is pretty easy to entertain, especially since she's nine and has both an active imagination and her entire bedroom of toys (both hers and Brittany's old ones) to busy herself with. It makes it easy for _babysitting my little sister_ to turn into _hanging out with Santana and ordering pizza and watching old Disney movies with the munchkin_.

And considering her reputation at McKinley, Brittany's pretty sure no one would believe that Santana would rather spend a quiet night hanging out with a nine year-old than drinking herself into doing something stupid (one of the healthiest things about Santana coming out, even just to herself, is she never goes out to party and drink far too much to try and forget about everything anymore, and Brittany has never been more thankful than now that Santana doesn't need alcohol to feel "normal" anymore). It's actually pretty amusing to Brittany, who knows Santana better than she knows herself sometimes, that who she actually is and who she presents to the world are almost polar opposites (or it's amusing now that it's stopped making Brittany sad, because now she knows that Santana is trying to get her public persona to match her outside, to varying degrees of hilarity).

The Santana of the McKinley halls, especially the Santana of last year or the year before, would probably be appalled to know that she'd rather spend a Friday night watching Disney movies with Brittany and the munchkin in her pjs that out at Puck's party; the real Santana, even back then, always knew there was no place she'd rather be than hanging out with her two favourite Pierces. All of the thought makes Brittany a little introspective, and she looks at Santana instead of the move. She's clutching her blanket around her shoulders, her eyes focused intently on the movie despite the fact that they've seen it hundreds of times, and Brittany's heart aches at how much she wants it to be like this for the rest of their lives.

"Do you ever worry about the future?" Brittany wonders quietly.

"Not really," Santana shrugs and glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eye. Brittany's sitting in front of the couch with her legs drawn up to her chest, her bunny-patterned pj pants tucked in around her feet, absently playing with the straw of her slushy as the old knitted afghan draped over her slips off her shoulders. Santana reaches over and adjusts the afghan so it's covering Brittany more; she feels a rush of something warm and bubbly sweep through her at Brittany's thankful smile and she cuddles further into her own blanket.

"Really?" Brittany asks in interest, her face bright under the glowing light of the television.

Santana shrugs again. "No," she repeats, easily and honestly, "Not since I met you."

Brittany's eyes go all warm and soft. "Santana," she murmurs, leaning over the popcorn bowl between them to press a soft, searching kiss to her lips.

A light smack on the back of their heads draws them apart with a grumble. "No kissing when you're babysitting," the munchkin scolds from behind them, "them's the rules."

Brittany shoots Santana a playful glare. "This is all your fault," she complains.

Santana holds up her hands in surrender. "I think we are equally to blame for that. It takes two people to make out!"

"Ewww," the munchkin whines. "No talking about kissing in front of me either."

"That's not a rule," Santana complains.

"It is now."

"Yeah well, you're not in charge."

"So? Neither are you!"

"I'm more in charge than you are."

"You are not—"

"Oh my God!" Brittany interrupts. "Are you two always going to be like this?"

Santana rolls her head back on the couch to look at the munchkin. "Pretty much," they say in sync, grinning and high-fiving each other.

"Ridiculous," Brittany mutters, turning back to the movie to try and hide the ecstatic flush to her face at the thought. "Now hush, Ray's about to start singing."

Santana grins and moves the popcorn bowl out of the way to scooch across the fluffy carpet and move closer to Brittany. "Hey," the munchkin warns.

Santana grins but doesn't turn around, catching Brittany's smirk out of the corner of her eye and forcing herself not to giggle. "Your parents never said anything about cuddling," she says, curling into Brittany to the sound of an exasperated groan behind them.

Brittany turns her head and, under the guise of putting her empty slushie cup on the side table, kisses Santana's cheek and whispers against the soft skin, "They did say something about _naked_ cuddling though," delighting when Santana's skin heats up under her lips before she turns back to the movie.

They watch in silence, curled together, stifling their snickers against shoulders and hair when the sound of soft snores starts to fill the air behind them. As Dr. Facilier reprimands Lawrence, they shift around to get more comfortable. Brittany reaches behind her for a couple of throw pillows while Santana moves the popcorn bowl to one of the side tables and spreads her blanket across the living room floor before stretching out on her stomach, crossing her arms in front of her and resting her chin on them. Brittany adjusts the munchkin on the couch so she's laying on a pillow and has a couple blankets tucked in around her before pressing a kiss to the top of her sister's head; the munchkin grumbles sleepily and makes a grabby motion at her older sister for a sluggish hug. Brittany smiles and whispers a _goodnight_ before turning to snuggle in beside Santana, throwing her blanket over them and resting partially on Santana's throw pillow and partially on her own. The munchkin snuffles and shifts on the couch behind them before sighing and falling still. Santana seems to be fighting sleep as well, but Brittany feels wide awake as she watches the movie, riveted even though she's seen it countless times before while babysitting her sister.

"You know, yours was better," Brittany says suddenly, "Better than Mr. Shue's, too."

Santana blinks sleepily, her dark eyes half closed as she tries to stifle a yawn. "I mean of course it was, but my what exactly?"

Brittany shifts until she can reach and poke at Santana's cheek, giggling when Santana tries to swat her hand away but misses, her arm flopping limply across the throw pillows and falling with a soft _thump_ on the carpeted floor. "Your proposal, silly."

Santana is suddenly wide awake, her body tense and eyes so wide the white practically glows in the light of the television. "I'm sorry, my _what_?"

Brittany runs a hand through Santana's hair, her fingers scratching soothingly at the back of Santana's neck. "The earrings you got me for Christmas," she explains patiently, grinning at how adorable Santana is when she's half-asleep and struggling to get her brain to work.

"That wasn't— I mean I didn't have a ring so it wasn't an actual— I mean it was—" Santana pauses and turns her wide eyes on Brittany, "Help."

Brittany giggles and presses a kiss to the side of Santana's head, sliding her hand from Santana's dark hair to drape over her back and tug her even closer. "I know, sweetie, but it kinda was one."

Santana relaxes under Brittany's arm and settles back onto her arms, turning her head so she can still see Brittany's face in the television light. "How so?" she asks curiously, the deer-in-the-headlights look starting to fade from her dark eyes.

Brittany pauses to think, resting her head back on her own arm but curling closer to Santana so they're almost nose-to-nose. "It was a proposal for a proposal. Like you promised to propose to me, and you offered me some jewellery with it, and we both started crying. Basically everything you need for a proposal."

Santana chuckles. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, genius."

"You wanna know something else?"

Santana's eyes go deep and soft and endless as she smiles her Brittany-smile and nods. "Always."

Brittany presses herself closer to Santana until she's practically draped over her, their breaths fanning across the other's cheeks. "I'll say _yes_ to anything you ask, real proposals or non-proposal proposals."

Santana's smile goes even deeper and softer as she leans forward to kiss Brittany in response. "Me too," she mumbles into Brittany's mouth. She breathes in deeply through her nose, and all her thoughts are filled with the coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine combination of Brittany's shampoo and body wash and the buttery-chocolatey taste of their movie snacks earlier and the gentle pressure of Brittany across her back.

The munchkin grumbles behind them and twists and turns on the couch until she settles back into sleep.

Santana pulls back with an annoyed eye-roll that's actually not annoyed at all. "A tattletale even when she's sleeping," she complains fondly.

Brittany giggles and steals one more kiss before settling back on her elbow. "We should finish the movie and go to sleep."

"You want to carry the munchkin up this time? Last time I did I think I almost knocked her head into the her doorway. And as much as your parents love me, I don't think they'd appreciates me knocking their baby out."

"Let's just sleep here," Brittany suggests. "Then we can't get in trouble again since mom and dad will see the munchkin is right there and we're completely decent."

"Since when does the shrimp get the couch?" Santana says by way of agreement, "We're seniors now."

Brittany rolls her eyes and giggles at the corny joke and settles further into Santana so she's cuddled comfortably across her girlfriend's back, taking each corner of the blanket and tucking it more securely around them before snuggling her face into Santana's neck. "Goodnight, Santana," she says instead.

Santana grumbles for a little bit, shifting slightly so she can press a kiss to Brittany's forehead and mumbling a _goodnight_ in return before she settles back onto her pillows.

"Love you, San."

"Love you too, Britt."

That's how they find their girls when Whitney and Pierce get home that night, the munchkin snoring softly on the couch and the other two girls stretched out in the middle of the living room, Brittany snuggled into Santana's back and one of Santana's hands freed from under her head in order to tangle with Brittany's on the carpet above their pillows, the title screen of _The Princess and the Frog_ playing quietly over the living room. Neither of them hear the shutter of Pierce's phone as he snaps a picture of all his girls, and they don't notice Whitney's grin as she takes her husband's phone to send the picture to herself, saving it before forwarding it on to Maribel, who she knows is working her third night shift in a row right now.

Whitney knows Maribel is going to need all the pictures of their two girls cuddling for that album she's making, the one that Whitney's pretty sure will make it to a certain day with two brides dressed in white.

* * *

January is bright and dark, the loss of that Christmas glow and the breath of a fresh start underneath all the broken promises everyone makes; it's white snow still falling long after the sun sets in the evenings, it's the start of the newest chapter of a well-read book, all the worn pages behind the new title and all the unopened pages ahead, it's a new year for someone who's struggled for so long and it's a new year for someone who's waited for so long, it's a resolution to stop trying to fix all the flaws but instead to love all the potential.

* * *

Exams are possibly the worst part of school, Brittany decides as she collapses on Santana's bed after her second last unit test of the week; she's almost positive that she's brain dead right now because all her thoughts are a little bit floaty and heavy at the same time. Santana's not home yet, and Santana's mom is at work for the rest of the day, but Brittany's had her own key to the Lopez's house for almost as long as she's had a key to her own house. She's pretty sure Santana is out picking up some coffees for the two of them so they can finish studying for their exam tomorrow, since today's exam was in the one of the two classes that Brittany doesn't have with Santana and Santana wanted to treat her. Brittany had halfheartedly tried to give Santana some money for their coffees but Santana had waved her off with a sweet kiss to the apple of Brittany's cheek. Brittany was not so secretly delighted, as she always is, whenever Santana does girlfriend-y things (even though they've been doing girlfriend-y things for forever, even way back before they started sleeping together, but there's something distinctly different now that they are in love and not hiding it; it's like Brittany has always wanted to shout about how sweet Santana is from the rooftops, and now she actually _can_ ).

Brittany stretches out across the bed, arching her back until it cracks satisfyingly, staring at the ceiling blankly. She digs her phone out of her pocket and sets it on the bedside table before she flops back onto the bed again and wiggles her way under the covers, burying her face in Santana's pillows. When she breathes in deeply enough, she can smell the faint scent of citrus and vanilla and pinewood that always clings to Santana, and she easily drifts to sleep.

When she wakes up, it's to Santana standing above her, her expression soft and bashful, like she's tasting something too sweet. "Hey, sleepyhead," Santana murmurs.

"Hey," Brittany mumbles. Her head feels less braindead than it did before, but it still feels a little bit like it's stuffed with cotton, especially after her nap. "What time is it?" she asks as she stretches a little bit before settling back on her stomach, burying her head into the pillows but turning it so she can still see Santana.

"Almost five," Santana says, perching herself beside Brittany, one leg tucked under herself.

"What took you so long?" Brittany asks around a yawn humming as Santana cards her fingers through blonde hair; Brittany curls towards Santana, feeling a little bit like a cat with the comforting feel of clever fingers in her hair and the fact that she's practically purring under Santana's ministrations.

"I ran into the Hobbit, Wheels, and the glee club gays at the Lima Bean and they asked me to have a coffee with them before I left," Santana explains, "I texted you but you didn't answer so I figured you were asleep."

Brittany can hear the faint note of surprised delight in Santana's voice at the fact that she was asked to hang out with the other glee kids and she can't help but smile at how adorable Santana is when she's trying to maintain her coolness. "You're a glee club gay," she reminds Santana, warmth filling all her limbs when she hears Santana's snort of laughter.

"Yeah," she concedes, and Brittany's never been prouder of Santana for how easy it is now for her to say something she struggled with for so long, "but I'm the hottest."

"No argument there," Brittany agrees, not without a faint trace of smugness in her voice.

Santana chuckles above her and Brittany shifts so she can wrap her one arm around Santana's waist and bury her face in Santana's stomach. She catches one of Santana's hands and plays with her fingers. "How'd your test go?" Santana asks.

Brittany shrugs. "I dunno. I get math but I don't, like, get tests, you know?"

Santana makes a sound of agreement and winds the tips Brittany's hair around her fingers, marvelling at the fact that no matter how much she plays with the blonde strands they never curl. "I get that," Santana says lightly. "But it doesn't matter Britt-Britt, you're a genius."

Brittany's face gets a little too warm for her skin but she just grins (and tries to ignore the little whisper of doubt in the back of her mind). "So how are the other glee kids?" she says, and Santana tactfully ignores the change in subject, she just presses her fingers soothingly into Brittany's neck.

"They are their usual dull selves," Santana answers easily, and only Brittany would ever be able to detect the hint of fondness hidden there, "but we did run into Andrew McCarthy."

Brittany furrows her brow. "You ran into the father from _The Spiderwick Chronicles_?"

Santana laughs a deep belly laugh above her, one that Brittany can feel from where she's pressed against Santana's stomach.

"That's what you know him from?" she asks with affectionate incredulity.

"He was also Robert Kennedy in that one TV documentary about Jackie Kennedy."

"I love your brain," Santana says dreamily. Brittany blushes even more but remains content with continuing to play with Santana's fingers, pressing down each knuckle like she's playing piano and drawing swirling patterns across her palms. The silence around them is comfortable, calm and soothing and relaxed. It feels like how Brittany wants to spend the rest of her life; comfortable and relaxed, cuddling in bed with Santana.

"Do you ever think about the fact that our lives are literally _High School Musical_?" Brittany asks suddenly. Santana is silent for a long moment, long enough for Brittany to pause in tracing hearts on her girlfriend's palm and tip her head around to look up at her; Brittany eyes Santana in concern as her dark eyes stare blankly across the room. "Santana?" she prompts.

Santana blinks quickly and shakes her head to clear it. "I do now. That's all I'm going to be able to think of."

Brittany giggles. "You're welcome."

Santana rolls her eyes and bends down to kiss Brittany, muttering a fond "Dork" against her lips.

Brittany grins and hums into the sweet kiss, not even disappointed when Santana pulls back because she can just stare unashamedly at Santana instead. There's another long stretch of comfortable silence, and it's only because of the quiet that Brittany can sense the sight change in Santana's thoughts, the little bit of tension in Santana's fingers.

"Have you heard anything yet?" Santana asks quietly, and she doesn't need to specify what she's talking about for Brittany to understand.

Brittany finds it a little hard to breath for a second, like someone's sitting on her chest. Santana had gotten her conditional acceptance letter last Wednesday, and while she's beyond ecstatic for Santana getting into her dream school in her dream city, there's a tiny part of her that's petrified that she'll be stuck in Lima forever while Santana is off being amazing in New York and finding someone else to love. And the more days that pass without anything in the mail from the schools she's applied to, the more sure Brittany is that she's not going to hear anything and she'll get left behind. "Not yet," Brittany finally manages, "but it's only Tuesday and they don't deliver mail on the weekends so."

Santana hums in agreement and Brittany tries not to read too much into the slightly worried tone; she hopes she's just projecting her own fears onto Santana, but Brittany knows her too well, and she knows Santana is probably as worried about it as Brittany herself is. "Well they'd be dumb not to accept you," Santana says firmly.

Brittany closes her eyes for a long moment, breathing in deeply and allowing Santana's familiar scent and her warm stomach and her gentle fingers to soothe her. Even if Brittany doesn't get into any of the schools she wants to, she can still go to New York with Santana and just work instead, because it won't be the first time a graduate takes a year off to work and as long as she's with Santana she doesn't really care what she's doing.

"Yeah," Brittany finally agrees, and the smile she sends Santana is soft and full of warmth and love and promises for the future.

* * *

January comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the bitter cold that traps the town in a grey blanket and the weak sunlight starting to struggle in its attempts to melt the winter, with the magic festivities behind them and the familiarly mysterious unknown ahead, with the stress of being seniors and sectionals and Cheerios and college applications, and with the soft moments of unexplainable serenity in between all the tension and anxiety, like a concept you don't know the word for, or a word you can't quite define, like how you can count all the ways you love someone but none of the reasons why.

* * *

Santana's father calls her in the first week of February, and she almost doesn't answer. She does, because of course she does; she's been trying not to get her hopes up for almost six years, but she's never quite been able to squash the little flicker of hope in her chest every time her father's photo fills her phone screen. That little flicker of hope always dies about fifteen seconds into the call, but it always still bursts into life for those too few moments.

Brittany's dozing on her bed; it's one of the few days neither of them are busy, and one of the fewer days where they're completely alone, and so they're taking full advantage of it by cuddling lazily on Santana's bed. Santana's ringtone barely disturbs her, though her face crinkles in displeasure when Santana slips from her arms to pull on a pair of sleep shorts and Brittany's discarded sweater from earlier, carefully opening to door to answer the phone call outside of her room.

"Hello, papá," Santana answers, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Santana. How are you?" her father's voice is cool and calm, like always. Santana can't quite remember the last time she heard any sort of emotion in his voice (actually she can remember, vividly: it was disappointment and resignation, back in November).

"Good. School's going really well," she says, knowing what he's really interested in.

"Have you boosted your math grade yet?"

Santana's throat is suddenly dry, so she heads for the stairs to get a glass of water from the kitchen. "Yeah," she answers without elaborating. Her mom is fine with what her grades are right now, as is the university she applied for if the conditional acceptance letter she got is anything to go by (Brittany's conditional acceptance came exactly a week after hers, and though neither of them showed it to the other, they were both equally worried about those days when Santana was moving to New York and Brittany wasn't; and equally relieved when it finally came).

"Hmm," her father says.

Santana makes it to the kitchen without feeling like she's going to throw up, which is actually an accomplishment when it comes to talking to her father if she's being honest. "I only need an sixty percent to maintain my conditional acceptance," Santana reminds her father with a hint of attitude she can't quite squash, "and I have an A so as long as I show up I'll be fine."

"Don't take that tone with me," her father warns, and Santana halfheartedly mumbles an apology; it's almost impressive how fast Santana's father can make her mood turn miserable.

"How's the clinic?" Santana asks instead.

"Good," her father answers without elaborating. Santana cradles her phone against her shoulder and ear to pour a glass of water.

"That's good," Santana says before taking a large gulp of water and half hoping that it will calm the churning in her stomach.

"When's your break?"

"Beginning of next week."

"I work Saturday until Wednesday."

"Okay." Santana wishes she actually felt something other than just the expected, slightly disappointed _nothing_ she always feels when her father reminds her he doesn't have the time to see his only daughter.

Her father is silent on the other end and Santana takes one last gulp of water before setting the glass in the sink and heading back to the basement, bracing herself for the newer addition to their (almost) weekly phone call.

"Are you still pretending you're gay?" her father asks, his voice as emotionless as it always is.

Santana swallows thickly and her legs stop working. She stares at one of the pictures of Brittany and her hanging on the hallway wall from summer last year, their arms around each other and laughing, carefree and in love. "I'm not pretending anything," she deadpans as she always does, struggling to keep the thickness out of her throat as she sticks to the script she's repeated for almost three months. "I am gay. I always have been and I always will be." Despite the entire situation with her father being awful, it makes her so grateful for her mom being who she is.

"Hmm," her father says. Santana focuses on the burning in her lungs and chest and throat, struggling to keep her breaths even; she knew this was coming, because he always ends their conversations like this, but it doesn't stop the sting. (Tomorrow, Mr. Shue will come into Spanish class and his causal racism will surprise her almost as much as her father's causal homophobia doesn't.) "I should go," he says, "Goodbye."

"Bye," Santana says, and her mouth tastes like ash. Her phone clicks off and she sighs, blinking rapidly to keep the wetness of her eyes as she heads downstairs. All she really wants right now is to curl up beside Brittany and let her make everything better. These last few weeks Santana has noticed that the shame that used to stick to the inside of her stomach every time she talked to her father has stopped manifesting itself; she's making progress, and nothing anyone could say to her will ever make her go back to the place she was before last summer, she refuses to let that happen again.

She sighs and cracks her bedroom door open. Her bedroom is dimly lit by the winter sun coming through her cracked blinds. The furnace has kicked on and hums in the background, struggling to heat the house against the bitter winter air. Brittany is sprawled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around Santana's pillow and her face buried in it. The blankets are pulled up to the middle of her back and her blonde hair haloes her head; one bare shoulder is exposed to the chilly basement air, and Santana already knows that Brittany will be warm and soft and sleepy when she climbs under the covers with her, but she takes a moment to just stand in the doorway and marvel at the fact that Brittany is in love with _her_ , completely and proudly.

Santana shivers in the chilled air of the basement and finally enters her room. Brittany stirs and peels one eye open, just a sliver of squinted blue. She wordlessly uncurls from Santana's pillow and lifts the blanket invitingly. Santana doesn't hesitate shuck off her sleep shorts and Brittany's sweater and crawl into Brittany's welcome arms, grinning cheekily when Brittany hisses at the feel of Santana's cold feet on her almost too warm legs.

"Where'd you go?" Brittany mumbles as she wraps the covers tighter around them, pulling Santana into her bed-warm embrace.

"Phone call," Santana says, and her other eye snaps open in sympathy and concern. Brittany doesn't have to ask who the phone call was from, she already knows just by the tightness around Santana's eyes and the tension in her shoulders, she just pulls Santana to her and gives her a lingering kiss, soft and gentle but still firm and _there_.

"I'm just tired, you know?" Santana mumbles when she pulls back to catch her breath. "It would almost be easier if he just fully disowned my like abuela did, then I wouldn't have to keep listening to how much he _disapproves of my choice_ every couple weeks."

"I'm sorry," Brittany says, pressing her forehead to Santana's. "It sucks and I wish I could do something about it."

Santana traces a delicate line from Brittany's brow, down the line of her cheek and across her lips before settling her palm against Brittany's jaw. "You being here is enough," she promises.

"Well that's good," Brittany murmurs, and then she tightens her arms around Santana, drawing Santana into her body even further and nuzzling into her hair. "Cause you're stuck with me."

"Good," Santana says into Brittany's chest. Brittany's embrace fixes almost everything, and Santana can feel the agitation from talking to her father fade away under Brittany's soft warmth. If it's impressive how fast Santana's father can make her miserable, it's even more impressive at how quickly Brittany can make her happy again. She drifts off to sleep to the sound of Brittany humming softly, stroking carefully through her hair and keeping all of Santana's ghosts at bay with nothing more than her gentle touch and her love.

* * *

February is long and crisp, the promise of spring hidden in the beams of weak sunlight stretching in through the window and the threat of winter stealing the breath from your lungs as soon as you step outside; it's the cheesiness of a Hallmark Holiday that used to make them both a little sad, and it's the joy of finally being able to celebrate it like they've always wanted to, it's the burning righteous anger at the unfairness of being told to hide after finally coming to terms with being yourself, and it's the hint of heartbreak underneath it that, after everything, they're still never going to be treated with the same decency as everyone else; it's the weirdly delighted wonder of that extra day in February, where everything is a little bright and a little prolonged and a little uncertain and every kiss feels a little more like a promise than usual, like the extra day is something magical just for them, a reward for all of their struggles and fear and heartbreak.

* * *

Santana's never been one for Hallmark Holidays, mostly because she never let herself enjoy them. She's always had this very specific image of herself, one that she refused to change just in case someone found out about her secret, one that she was never able to let go of until she finally accepted herself. Which is why she's kind of looking forward to Valentine's Day this year, because it means she gets to do all the sickly sweet things she's always denied herself of and, more than that, she gets to do all those things with Brittany.

The only problem is, she's never really celebrated Valentine's Day before, and her mom is even less help since the last time she celebrated Valentine's Day was long before she divorced Santana's father. She tells Santana some useless advice about _giving Brittany something special_ , as if Santana didn't already know that; of _course_ Santana is going to give Brittany something special, the problem is that she has no fucking clue what that _special_ thing is. (Santana's actually giddy with elation at the fact that she can gush to her mom about her _girlfriend_ because, for the longest time, it was something that Santana refused to let herself hope for because she was too busy bracing for rejection and abandonment; she covers this with her usual annoyed grumpiness, but her mom knows about the giddiness hidden underneath, moms are like that sometimes).

The other problem is that everyone else (besides Brittany, because Brittany is always her one exception) doesn't understand that the Santana they've known for all of high school is the Santana that wasn't happy with herself, the one that took all her fear and insecurity out on everyone else before anyone even got the chance to see inside her. They don't know the Santana that Santana knows she is, and worst of all, Santana still doesn't quite know how to be that Santana around them; which leads to some slightly confusing interactions for everyone involved, both bitchy and friendly, snarky and kind.

The only good part of it all is that Brittany remains beside her the entire time, holding her hand and giving her encouraging smiles and gently teasing her every time she tries to show someone else her _soft_ (and proud kisses, later, but that's beside the point).

Which is why she ends up in the glee room with all the other girls, listening to them gush about how sweet their boyfriends are for Valentine's Day (as if they weren't all high school boys who forgot Valentine's Day existed until last night, and as if Santana's girlfriend isn't the actual sweetest person alive and actually got Santana the sweetest gift ever). Santana only half pays attention as she leans against the piano. Brittany stands beside her and makes funny faces when everyone else is looking the other way, trying to make Santana's blank, uninterested face break — she succeeds, but only Brittany can see the sliver a grin on her face and the hint of laughter in her dark eyes. The whole day is pretty dull, actually being able to _be_ with Brittany aside, and Santana is feeling the effects of it now, sleepiness starting to creep into the corners of her eyes; and all the talk about _Finn this_ and _Mike that_ and _Artie did this_ and _Finn said that_ and _Rory gave me this_ and _Finn is doing that_.

(Santana inwardly smirks because one of the best parts of coming out is that she doesn't have to pretend to _get_ boys anymore or understand why all the other girls swoon over them. It means that she can uninterestedly file her nails and only half pay attention to the conversation without anyone getting on her case or asking what boy she _likes._ It also means that she can give Brittany all the lovesick looks she wants without anyone realizing she's kind of in love with her, since everyone already knows she's in love with her, kind of a lot.)

She's in the middle of staring at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, marvelling at how pretty she is and how sweet she is and how lucky Santana is to have a perfect Valentine this year, when Rachel interrupts her musings.

"What?" Santana snaps. Brittany hides a smile behind a sip from her water bottle, sending Santana a knowing look out of the corner of her eye as she sets it on the piano behind them. Santana feels herself blush at being caught staring but resolutely ignores it.

"I said I thought you hated Valentine's Day, Santana," Rachel repeats carefully.

Santana swallows and hopes she conveys casual indifference when she answers with a simple "I did." She knows she fails when she feels Brittany's fingers slip into hers and squeeze teasingly.

Rachel is obviously waiting for her to elaborate but Santana doesn't particularly want to so she remains silent until Rachel nods awkwardly and says, "Oh."

Brittany grins and hides it by nuzzling into Santana, her chin resting on Santana's shoulder as she untangles their hands so she can wrap Santana up into a hug from behind, slipping her hands into the pockets of Santana's letterman jacket. "She's a real romantic," she says seriously, and only Santana can tell she's being teased by the way a grin is further hidden in her shoulder as Brittany shakes with silent giggles against her back.

"Really?" Rachel says in interest. Quinn just smirks at them, unfazed by the dark glare Santana throws her way.

"Really, really," Brittany agrees, her arms tightening around Santana's stomach. Santana tries not to melt back into Brittany's warmth, but that's nearly impossible.

"They were pretty cute on our double date," Tina agrees.

Santana scowls at her. "Watch it, Girl Chang," she warns.

Tina rolls her eyes, completely unfazed by the bite in Santana's voice. "You can pretend all you want, but I have photo evidence of—"

"Shut the fuck up," Santana growls.

Tina laughs but holds her hands up in surrender. The other girls watch them in interest, but Santana's only really focusing on the feel of Brittany's hands tracing shapes on her stomach in her pockets. It's really distracting, and she kind of zones out again when the other girls resume chatting about some movie coming out and the awful history homework they got assigned today that's due tomorrow. Brittany presses her face against the juncture where Santana's neck meets her shoulder and Santana can feel her smirk there, the kind that means that Brittany knows exactly how distracting she's being.

The other girls start gathering their stuff, milling lazily about, both excited and reluctant to leave and get dressed for the Sugar Shack later. Brittany subtlety kisses the side of her neck before releasing Santana from her embrace and turning to gather her stuff off the piano. Santana grabs her own stuff, smiling softly to herself when she catches a glimpse of the pink cover of Brittany's laptop peaking out of her backpack as Brittany packs her water bottle and glee sheet music away. Quinn and Mercedes lead the way out of the glee room to the parking lot, waving at Mr. Shue as they pass his office, Sugar and Tina and Rachel trail behind them with Brittany and Santana bringing up the rear, shutting the door behind them as they leave. Brittany slips her hand into Santana's with a grin; no matter how many times Brittany does that, it never fails to get warm tingles racing through the veins of Santana's arms.

The two of them wave goodbye to the others and head off in the opposite direction where Brittany's car is parked; since they had to be at the school early for Cheerios, they got prime parking near the staff parking lot.

"I can't believe how nosy everyone was being today," Santana complains as they near Brittany's car.

"Aww, do you get grumpy when people are being friendly," Brittany coos.

"Oh fuck off," Santana laughs, no actual bite in her voice.

Brittany just giggles and swings their hands in a wide, dramatic arc, until Santana can't help the adoring smile she gives her girlfriend (it's been just over three months since they were dating and Santana still hasn't stopped getting a small thrill every time she thinks of Brittany as her _girlfriend_ ).

They drive to Santana's house in comfortable peace, hands tangled on the centre console, singing along to every cheesy love song the radio plays. Even though Santana's thoughts never stray too far from how lucky she is to be sitting here holding Brittany's hand, a small part of her remains worried about what could happen tonight at the Sugar Shack, even though it's hard to be anxious when Brittany's hand is in hers and she's singing dramatically along to whatever popular boy band is on the radio, blue eyes sparkling when they meet Santana's at a red light. They reach Santana's house far too soon, and she pouts a little at having to leave the car until Brittany lifts their hands to kiss Santana's knuckles with a giggle.

"I'll pick you up at seven," Brittany promises, "And then Breadstix."

"Don't be late," Santana warns, leaning across the console to give Brittany a sweet, lingering kiss. (Her stomach churns just a little, thinking about the possibility of having to face the God Squad's rejection tonight.)

Brittany grins and lets go of the steering wheel to cup Santana's jaw. "Never," she promises against Santana's lips, and then all Santana can taste is Brittany's smile.

* * *

February comes and goes in the quiet moments, with midnight dances in the bitter chill of the winter night, with fresh snow covering everything like a new beginning every time clouds gather on the edge of town, with the pure joy at finally being able to celebrate Valentine's Day like they've always wanted, with no hurt or tears or being told that she'll never find love, with playlists and boughten performances and sweet kisses outside of one of their houses, while everyone else at McKinley receives last minute candy and panicked dinner reservations and cheap jewelry, they give each other the sun and the moon and the stars, they give each other infinity.

* * *

Santana's not going to lie, being at Rachel's dress fitting makes her skin crawl in the worst way possible. It's not just the colour pink covering her body for the first time in years, it's the consultant asking the _blushing bride_ everything about the _lucky groom_ and sending sideways sneers at Santana every time she brushes her hand across Brittany's.

Ever since November Santana has been even more acutely aware of the the eyes on her back. Before she always calmed herself down by reminding herself that she was just being paranoid because it's not like anyone could _smell_ the lesbian on her or anything, but now she knows that every time someone looks at her they see that fucking ad first more often than not. Whenever she feels eyes linger on her, Santana's skin crawls with the heavy weight of judgemental gazes, whether their expressions are full of disapproval or revulsion or arousal (which, is somehow worse; Santana can handle the nameless hate, more or less, but she can't handle the creepy knowing looks that guys send them when they spot her holding hands with Brittany).

Sometimes the thought of that fucking ad still makes her so angry, but most times it just makes her tired. She's tired of being Ohio's novelty, and she's tired of being Lima's _Teenage Lesbian_ , and she's tired of the looks and she's tired of the sneers and she's tired of everyone looking at her and Brittany and making _assumptions_ without even knowing anything about them. It's everything she feared back in September right before school started, and there's nothing she can actually do about it. (Though to be fair, it's not _everything_ she feared; she still has a home and her mom still loves and supports her and Brittany is still amazing and beautiful and _loving_ , and she feels lighter and happier, now that's she's not denying that part of her identity to her loved ones and, more importantly, to herself.)

But still, if she listens to Rachel faintly complain about the lighting in the dressing room one more time Santana's actually going to lose it. Brittany nudges her where she's sitting pressed against her and gives her a sweet smile, and Santana can feel all her anger start to melt away.

Tina, Mercedes, Sugar, and Quinn are all on the other side of the store, pawing through bridesmaids dresses to hopefully replace the atrocities they are currently wearing; Santana and Brittany got stuck with Rachel-sitting duty, trying their best to distract her while the other four pick out dresses that aren't absolutely awful. Rachel's in the dressing room with the snide consultant, and so Brittany and Santana are sharing a chair, the poofy parts of their third round of bridesmaids dresses forcing them to sit with their hips pressed together and their legs in different directions. Brittany suddenly straightens and yawns, stretching her arms high above her head before settling one across Santana's shoulders. Santana giggles, feeling light and bubbly as Brittany waggles her eyebrows suggestively (and not for the first time wonders how anyone could think there's anything _wrong_ about their love).

"Smooth," Santana snorts.

"You love it," Brittany sing-songs, surging forward the press a series of sloppy kisses to Santana's cheek.

"You're not a fourteen year-old boy on his first ever date," Santana chides as she shoves Brittany's face away, though she can't quite wipe the smile off her face or hide the laughter in her voice.

"Well that's probably a good thing. I don't know if you could handle all those hormones at once," Brittany teases.

"Me?" Santana says in mock-surprise, cuddling closer to Brittany. "I don't think _your_ body could handle it."

Brittany laughs and presses a kiss into Santana's hair. The store is pretty quiet; the other glee girls are talking on the other side of the store but Santana can't make out anything they're saying, and Rachel's screechy voice is silent for blissful moments, and the snide consultant is out of sight. Santana relaxes further into Brittany, sighing in contentment, still marvelling at how freeing it feels to be _herself_ in public.

"What do you think?"

Santana blinks and tenses a little bit when Rachel's voice breaks her thoughts. She glances up to find Rachel looking at them expectantly, the consultant standing close behind Rachel. Rachel's newest dress is even poofier than the bridesmaids dresses everyone else has on, which is not a good thing in this case. It's almost feathered at the bottom, with a tight bodice and a large bow tied at her waist and mostly see-through short sleeves. It doesn't really look bad or anything, it just doesn't really look good either; it doesn't leave a lasting impression either way, but the consultant is giving Santana and Brittany that snide look over Rachel's shoulder and Santana can almost feel her hackles rising and her blood start to boil; mostly though, she just feels sick to her stomach.

"You look like a school girl obsessed with Big Bird," Santana says flatly.

Rachel frowns and turns to Brittany. "What about you?"

Brittany sends Santana a sidelong look, her eyes bright and worried. "It does look like you swallowed chicken with all its feathers still on," Brittany agrees.

Rachel turns around and inspects herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. "This dress falls right in your budget," the consultant interrupts, sending a glare at Brittany and Santana. Brittany tightens her arm around Santana, and from the hard glint in her usually soft blue eyes Santana knows that Brittany recognizes the contemptuous looks too. "This style of dress is very modern, a little bit of a twist on the traditional ball gown."

"No, they're right," Rachel says decisively, "It is too feathered. Barbra would never have worn this many ruffles."

"Barbra's your mother?" the consultant asks in interest.

"No," Brittany and Santana both deadpan at the same time Rachel launches into her usual monologue. The consultant seems caught between confusion and fake interest, and her face settles somewhere on constipated.

"Dwarf," Santana interrupts, "she doesn't need your whole, sad life story. Nobody should be forced to sit through that, no matter how bitchy they are."

"Why are you so mean today?" Rachel asks, and she doesn't even look hurt, just mildly curious. "You were almost friendly yesterday."

Santana gives Rachel her darkest glare (ignoring the contemptuous glare the consultant is currently sending her). "Well we aren't friends, Hobbit," Santana sneers.

(Deep down, Santana knows that Rachel is bothering her so much more than usual today because it's so easy for her. She can wake up any single day and go and get married, no questions asked, but Santana has to fucking move to a different state for her marriage to be recognized, and she only has six options at that.)

(Santana knows Rachel is getting on her last fucking nerve right now because Santana can't actually get married in the state she was born in. It's because there are more states where her love is illegal than there is wedding dresses Rachel has tried on today. It's because every time Santana wants to hold Brittany's hand she has to check over her shoulder to make sure there's no one there to scream obscenities at them. It's because Rachel-Fucking-Berry can get married at seventeen-fucking-years-old and if Santana wants to get married it's illegal in almost sixty percent of the country. It's because Rachel Berry's wedding will be seen as an example of cute high school sweethearts and Santana's marriage is a political war zone. It's because, if Santana and Brittany want to travel, they have to be careful that they won't be arrested or attacked for holding hands, and the Hobbit and Frankenteen could be bordering on public indecency and barely be noticed.)

(It's because it's not fucking _fair_ that she's fought with herself for so long and now she has to fight the rest of the world too, or at least forty-three percent of America.)

Rachel continues to stare at her curiously and Santana continues to glare back until Brittany's hand curls around her wrist and traces soothing circles there, hidden from the snide glances of the consultant by the poofy bottom of their bridesmaids dresses, and Santana remembers that she's not actually alone in this, she never was. Santana twists her hand so she can tangle her fingers with Brittany, savouring the squeeze of acknowledgement Brittany makes.

She breaths in deeply and shakes her head, standing up quickly and marching away from Rachel and the consultant, towards the only part of the store not filled with people. Mercedes is looking at them in worry as Santana storms past them, Brittany trailing faithfully after her, but then her eyes slip past them and catch on the sneer the consultant is giving Brittany and Santana, and her eyes clear and then cloud over. She nudges Quinn beside her and nods in the direction of the consultant; they exchange stormy glances and start marching towards the consultant.

Santana is too busy fighting the sick feeling in her stomach and the wetness behind her eyes to really pay attention to what's going on around her (she especially doesn't notice when Mercedes and Quinn demand a different consultant because she's trying really hard not to look in that direction), until Brittany tightens her grip on Santana's hand and pulls her down a row of dresses and around a corner, hidden from prying eyes.

Brittany strokes her hands soothingly down Santana's biceps as Santana finally gasps in a breath she so desperately needs. Her stomach is coiled tight and her skin crawls and she _hates_ that people can still make her feel like this despite how far she's come. She hates that no matter what she does, she's always going to feel a little bit like an outsider.

"It's not fair," Santana chokes out and, because it's Brittany, she understands instantly. She doesn't just understand Santana, but she understands the injustice of it all more intimately than any of the other glee club girls looking through dresses around the corner, in a way only Kurt and Blaine really understand.

Brittany brushes Santana's hair behind her ears, cupping full cheeks and thumbing away the streaks of mascara. "It's not," she agrees, and behind the hint of sadness and anger is a thread of steel. It's something that Santana knows well, as familiar as that determined glint in her eye that Brittany gets whenever she wants to prove someone wrong or prove herself to someone; like that time when their fourth grade teacher said Brittany wasn't performing _at an appropriate level_ and Brittany went home and studied hard enough to get one-hundred percents on her next five tests, or when she stood up to Santana's father in middle school for missing another ballet recital even though she was terrified of him, or when she asked Santana to sing a duet in front of all of glee club even though she was petrified of what would happen, or when she first told Santana she was in love with her, or when she promised that she didn't want Santana to be anybody but herself, or when she decided to run for class president by using her popularity to manipulate the entire high school into voting for her so she could make the school a safer place for people like her and her girlfriend, or when she choreographed the entire sectionals number for the Troubletones by herself in two days, or when Figgins shouted _teen lesbians_ down the hall of the school as if he had a right to call them that, or right now, in this moment, with determined eyes and steel in her voice.

"It's not fair," Brittany repeats, and Santana opens her eyes to see blue ones so bright and certain and loving that butterflies beat against her ribs. "But I don't care where we have to go or move to, one day, in some other state or even here, eventually, I'm going to marry the hell out of you."

Santana's breath catches somewhere on it's way out and her soul trembles with the heady weight of the words. They've talked about marriage before, in those vague, hopeful ways one does, but never like this, never in unshakable belief that one day, they're going to make it to the alter together, somewhere.

Brittany's eyes are glowing, like there's a light lit in them, and her smile is so beautiful Santana's heart aches. "Britt," Santana breathes, her eyes darting all over Brittany's face like she's trying to commit everything to memory (it's not that hard, Santana's pretty sure she'll never ever forget this moment as long as she lives), and it only makes Brittany's smile grow, "You— I mean—" She sighs and takes a deep breath before catching blue eyes. "I'm going to marry the hell out you one day too," she finally manages with a slowly growing smile.

If possible, Brittany lights up even more as she leans in to press a soft kiss to Santana's lips, and Santana is reminded of what Brittany told her, what feels like forever ago, about limits and infinity and forever, because Brittany tastes of all those things right now, in this moment, and Santana's pretty sure she'll taste of all those things in the future too, someday.

* * *

Winter comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the cold air of snow and grey skies of storms that quiet the birds that stayed and makes all of the students in town hold their breath in the hopes of a snow-day, with the courage that comes from knowing for sure that they're now going to stay with each other for forever instead of running away when they got scared like they used to, with the bittersweet taste of ice in the air chased away by the warmth of sweet kisses breathed into smiling mouths, with promises that are as bright and loving as the eyes that make them, because they have all the Christmases behind them and all the Christmases ahead of them to look forward to.

It's at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.

* * *

 _"I loved the fact that on most days you looked like a patchwork quilt, guilt-free and warm,_

 _You_ _looked like an authority on all things lovely and I've always had a thing for_ _a_ _girl_ _in uniform._

 _That winter you left me snow-blind._

 _Trying to find enough details that would let you know,_

 _That even though some people have perfect sight,_

 _Those same people could try to paint you by numbers and they still wouldn't get you right."_

* * *

Winter comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's laughter so bright it chases the cold away, smiles and kisses that replace old fears with happiness that makes them forget what they were even scared of in the first place.

* * *

It's at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.

* * *

February comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's long and crisp, the joy of Valentine's Day celebrated together and without fear for the first time and it's the unfairness of being told to hide yourself again and it's spending the day giving each other the sun and the moon and the stars despite it all.

* * *

January comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's bright and dark, a concept you don't know the term for or a word you can't quite define but that still makes you spend time looking in between all the soft moments that assure you that you're in love even though you might never know why.

* * *

December comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's white and pretty, waking up to soft kisses and bed-warm skin after nights of mistletoe kisses and singing carols and dreams of a fresh start when the snow covers the town in a pristine white blanket.

* * *

Winter is a new beginning in every snowfall that promises something fresh in the morning when cold noses and warm hands emerge from that sacred place of dreams.

It's kisses that taste of hot chocolate and candy canes and promises for the future, where they can feel the unshakeable belief that someday, somewhere, they're going to make it, pretty and in white, together at the alter.

* * *

It's at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

* * *

 _"Weighing our relationship on scales you balanced us out and always made me feel needed._

 _You always asked me what to wear,_

 _And I would stare at you as if for a second I wouldn't answer,_

 _Of course, I always did._

 _Hid my affections in my response:_

 _'Wear that smile,' I said,_

 _'That one you wear when you see me,_

 _That one you wear to bed.' "_

* * *

 _Santana is about seventy-five percent sure she knows what a crush is, and she's also about seventy-five percent sure she definitely doesn't have one on her best friend. After all, she's supposed to have crushes on cute boys, or at least that's what the other girls in their grade gossip about, and it's what her papi told her when she asked him about it, discomfort clear on his face (but that was years ago, back when he spent more time at home than at the clinic)._

 _Santana's almost certain she knows what crushes are, and she's almost certain she doesn't have one on Brittany, because Brittany isn't a cute boy, despite being the prettiest person Santana's ever seen in her entire life._

 _But sometimes—_

 _Sometimes Brittany smiles at her and her stomach starts to swoop like that time Brittany dragged her onto a roller coaster. And sometimes Brittany will take her hand and Santana's face will get all warm under her skin like she is staring into an opened oven. And sometimes just sitting beside Brittany makes Santana feel all light and floaty and also like she's too full of something bright. And there was that one time, after Santana dropped worms in Puck's lunch after he made fun of Brittany's spelling test mark, that Brittany kissed her cheek and Santana's heart had suddenly started pounding so loud she could feel it all throughout all her limbs._

 _But that's normal for best friends who don't have crushes on each other, Santana's pretty sure._

 _It makes Santana more than a little confused, and more than a little angry that she can't quite figure out her feelings, and just a little bit scared by it all. Her classmates and her papi and every book she reads and every show and movie she watches all tell her that she's supposed to have crushes on cute boys or charming princes, which means that whenever she gets that fluttery, light feeling around Brittany, it_ can't _be a crush._

 _(Deep down, when she's staring up at the ceiling at night and listening to her parents have whispered screaming matches down the hall, she wonders and she imagines and she dreams. She thinks about Brittany and holding hands and kissing cheeks and that fluttering feeling that makes her really feel her heartbeat and reminds her that she's breathing and alive. She thinks about that and curls into her pillow and holds the stuffie Brittany bought her forever ago close and tries not to hear her papi's whispered yells and her mami's too loud silence, and she drifts to sleep with the ghostlike pressure of Brittany's lips against her cheek.)_

 _Santana tries not to let her anger and her confusion and her fear affect Brittany, because that's not fair, but Santana's learning that there's a lot of things that aren't fair (like the divorce papers she saw on her mami's dresser last week when she snuck into her parents room looking for something new to play with), and she's learning that her emotions sometimes feel too big and too threatening and it makes tears gather at the corner of her eyes._

 _But sometimes—_

 _Sometimes Santana finds it hard, when Brittany is bubbly and laughing and Santana feels a strange sense of shame crawl under her skin in place of the floaty feeling. And sometimes she snaps at Brittany even though she doesn't want to and it makes her feel even worse than the shame did and they always sit in silence for a while until Santana gruffly but genuinely apologizes. (Brittany always forgives her instantly, even if Santana doesn't always understand why she does.)_

 _Today is one of those_ sometimes _days, one of the days where her papi is watching them and his gaze lingers a little too disapprovingly on Santana and Brittany, and it makes something deep in Santana's stomach twist and she suddenly wants to move as far away from Brittany as she can, even though she always wants to be close to her. They're sitting on that tiny window-seat in Santana's living room, crosslegged with one of Brittany's knees covering Santana's, watching the snowflakes fall in the sparkling golden light of the setting sun, welcoming the first day of winter to Lima like they do every year. Today, when Santana sees her papi pause in the living room doorway and frown at the two girls, something deep and dark and shameful in his eyes, she tenses. Today, Santana snaps at Brittany and it's not out of that strange shame, but it is out of fear for whatever dark, ugly glint in her papi's eyes. She snaps and Brittany doesn't look hurt but she gets that strange disappointed look, her eyes are tight and her brows are drawn low. They remain sitting pressed against each other, and it takes barely a minute of awkward silence before Santana feels regret replace the fear in her stomach._

 _"Sorry," Santana mutters, trying not to sound like she means it even though she does._

 _"S'okay," Brittany says easily, and Santana wishes she could hate the knowing look in her eye, but instead she's just really grateful for it._

 _"It's just—" Santana chokes herself off and searches for the right words._

 _It's only at that moment, when Santana is trying to explain the ugly look in her papi's eyes, that she realizes what she's really scared about. It's something Santana's been worried about since Hannah and Ally had that fight over Daniel a couple weeks ago; Hannah and Ally had been inseparable since kindergarten (much like Brittany and Santana, which is what worries her), up until Daniel had transferred to their school. That was before the start of December, and now it's been going on six weeks and they haven't even looked at each other, let alone talked or had a sleepover. It's something that she's absolutely terrified of, something that she's not sure if she could survive, if Brittany abandoned her, especially if it was for a_ dumb _boy._

 _"It's just—" Santana squints at Brittany, slightly suspiciously. "You promise you won't go and get a crush on some dumb boy and leave me behind, right?"_

 _Brittany rolls her eyes and throws her arm over Santana's shoulder; Santana tries not to melt into the embrace and only marginally succeeds. "I'd never leave you behind," Brittany promises easily, "You're my best friend in the whole world, and nothing will ever change that."_

 _"Not even dumb boys," Santana checks._

 _"Especially not dumb boys," Brittany says firmly._

 _Santana finally allows herself to relax against Brittany's side. "Okay," she murmurs. She's suddenly sleepy and a little exhausted, her emotions finally levelling out and she doesn't even realize that she's almost dozing off until Brittany nudges her awake._

 _Santana blinks her eyes open, unaware she had even closed them, to find Brittany's hand in front of her face, curled into a fist except for her pinky. Santana frowns a little and glances up at Brittany, heat crawling faintly under her cheeks when bright and determined blue eyes meet hers. "Pinky promise?" Brittany asks._

 _Santana blinks again. "Huh?"_

 _Brittany's smile blooms slowly over her face, lighting up her features one by one, and Santana's suddenly not so sure about that whole_ I-definitely-don't-have-a-crush-on-Brittany _thing because her heart pounds and something deep under her sternum trembles at the smile on Brittany's face. "Pinky promise," she repeats, wiggling her finger, "that we won't abandon each other for some dumb boy. For forever and until infinity."_

 _Santana grins and glances up at Brittany, quickly lifting her hand to wrap her pinky around Brittany's. "Pinky promise."_

* * *

It's on the first day of winter that Brittany makes a pinky promise.

It's on the first day of winter that Santana makes a pinky promise.

* * *

It's at the start of winter that Santana makes a promise.

It's at the end of winter that Brittany makes a promise.


	4. full moon, perfect circle

**Notes** : This is where this series diverges the most from canon because someone's gotta capitalize on all the wasted potential of s3, so it might as well be me. And because of that, Saturday Night Glee-ver just doesn't exist in this universe lol.

Also, I have no desire to search up college application processes/SAT/ACT stuff for the states considering I just finished my degree and I Do Not want to think about school rn lmao, so if you're American and you go "huh?" at something relating to that, I'm sorry, I'm just a confused Canadian lmao. We don't have anything similar to SAT/ACT here, it's usually you apply for university/college in November of your senior year and get conditional acceptance by February that means "pass your classes and you're in" so I don't even know? I took diplomas—which are our grade 12 tests—but they aren't really like SAT/ACTs at all so? Just suspend disbelief for that lmao.

(Lowkey I have a whole timeline to explain why Brittany could have gotten her acceptance in the winter seasons fic but only get her SAT scores back now, which involved looking up NYC university application deadlines, the dates of the 2012 SATs, and the time SAT scores could be delayed if they were flagged. It was Very involved and took like an hour of research for like three sentences in this fic LOL.)

Also as far as I can tell the closest Six Flags to Lima is like a 5 hour drive away? So I dunno either these teenagers spent 10 hours out of the day driving there and back just for Senior Ditch Day, or Glee is just being a Big Dumb like usual lmao. Unless they went to the one in Columbus and also back in time six years cause that, uh, you know, closed in 2006 so lmao smh Glee like usual. Love when show creators don't know how to google stuff lol.

Title and excerpts from "Favourite" by Shane Koyczan

* * *

 _Chapter 4. full moon, perfect circle, I end where you start_

* * *

 _"When I play favourites, you always win._

 _Champion of my now and every moment after, you, are my favourite._

 _Since the moment we met._

 _Since the instant your welcome invasion first set foot in the unclaimed territory of my heart._

 _Full moon, perfect circle, I end where you start._

 _You, are my favourite."_

* * *

Spring is the balmy nights and emerging freckles like tiny drops of sunshine rain, and it's the scent of petrichor clinging to hair like midnight that tumbles through the open window with a flurry of unfurling soft green. It's stargazing in the damp grass with the past and present and future caught in inky shadows, and it's new growth stretching towards the pale sunlight that turns ash blonde to sunflower gold. It's the silver and red congratulations springing up in the hallways of the school, and it's fingers tangling below flower circled wrists under harsh gymnasium lights. It's finding new memories in old songs like longing in reverse, and it's days growing as long as grass in the shadow of heads bent together, the complicated turning simple as the smallest things becoming everything.

Spring is the time when they stop looking over their shoulders, and when they start looking into the future with the knowledge that it's finally within reach. Spring is when they feel their souls twining even closer together. Spring is the time for counting new petals the same way they count the breaths between laughter, with the very same bravery they begun summer and autumn and winter with, branches growing and tangling together in the same way their roots already have.

It's at the start of spring that Santana kisses Brittany.

* * *

Brittany convinces Santana to go stargazing with her on the first warm night of spring—though, to be honest, Santana doesn't take all that much convincing. They wear their rain jackets even though the night air is clear and still, to protect their backs from the dew-damp grass, sprawling on a blanket that quickly grows damp. Santana's mumbled complaints at the wet chill soaking the blanket causes Brittany to shoot her an _I told you so_ look, because Santana insisted they didn't need rain jackets since they had the blanket; Santana just sticks her tongue out and haughtily ignores Brittany until she pins Santana to the ground with tickles and kisses.

Santana's pretty sure that laying in the grass and stargazing in a field by the train tracks is, like, the most stereotypical small town date idea ever, but she can't really find it in herself to care, not when Brittany is curled against her side, sleepy and warm against the sharp spring air. Their curfews are lifted for once, after almost a week of begging their parents; with a crazy pileup of test and assignment deadlines at the midpoint of the semester, and the stupidly high number of hours they've both put in to studying and rehearsing for Nationals, their parents collectively decided that the two girls could use a break. Both of them have been putting more hours into studying than a lot of their friends, because they're both so desperate to maintain their conditional acceptance and guarantee their escape from small town Ohio to the spots waiting for in New York.

Brittany shifts against her as if she can sense Santana's thoughts straying to exams and university and stress, all things they decided to stop thinking about, just for tonight. Santana grins and turns her head to snuggle further into Brittany's embrace, nimble fingers dancing along Santana's jean covered hip, lazily drawing patterns with gentle, swooping lines; first hearts and then stars, their names and then what Santana thinks might be a cat. Santana sighs and nuzzles into Brittany's neck as her soft, lilting voice points out constellations and recites everything she knows about the stories behind them, Greek and then Roman and then the ones her dad made up for her when they went camping years ago.

"It's probably almost midnight," Brittany suddenly whispers, her minty breath from the gum she'd been chewing earlier fanning across Santana's face, "We'll have to head home soon."

"Do we have to?" Santana pouts. She knows she shouldn't risk her mom's wrath by staying out past their extended curfews, but she has absolutely no inclination to move from Brittany's warm embrace.

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana on the nose, waiting until her face twists up in the adorable scrunched expression that Brittany so loves. "We could just stay here all night, wait until the next train and hop on it."

Santana hums and nuzzles their noses together. "How long would we ride it?"

"Until the end of the line," Brittany whispers, kissing Santana languidly.

Santana sighs and rolls Brittany onto her back, their jackets scratching together as she settles over her girlfriend. Brittany slips one hand under the hem of Santana's jacket and shirt, her other combing gently through dark waves of hair. Santana melts fully into Brittany's body, feeling like she's sinking right down to Brittany's essence, like their souls are twining together, twisting and moulding into each other until they're inseparable.

Santana wonders if they were ever even two separate souls, because she knows with every part of her that wherever Brittany's soul was before this life, hers was there too.

"Your phone's ringing," Brittany mumbles against her lips, startling Santana a little, who was so lost in kissing Brittany that the rest of the world fell away.

"Huh?" she gasps as her lips slide from Brittany's.

Brittany giggles and strokes her hands along Santana's back, tugging Santana's ringing phone from her back pocket. "Your phone," she repeats teasingly as she presents it to Santana, "ringing."

Santana rolls her eyes, rolling slightly off of Brittany so she can balance on one elbow as she takes her phone. "Hello?" she greets, rolling her eyes at Brittany's wide smirk as she reaches up to wipe smudged lipgloss from Santana's chin.

" _Santana Maria Lopez, do you have_ any _idea what time it is?_ "

Santana winces and pulls her phone away from her ear, checking the time and cursing under her breath. It's not her fault that she always loses track of time when Brittany's lips are on hers. "Sorry, we just lost track of time."

" _Don't_ sorry _me, young lady,_ " her mom snaps, and Santana winces again, knowing her and Brittany are both in deep trouble. " _It's almost one in the morning. The Pierces have been calling me because Brittany wasn't answering her phone either. We thought—_ " Her mom cuts herself off abruptly, breathing in sharply. Santana's stomach churns with guilt, knowing exactly what their parents were probably thinking; her mom had been working the day Quinn was brought in, and—after having to treat Quinn in the trauma room, her mangled body barely recognizable from the girl Maribel knew so well from years of sleepovers and homework sessions and Cheer competitions—ended up having to restrain and try to comfort an inconsolable Judy Fabray.

"I'm really sorry, mamí," she says quietly, "We didn't mean to scare you guys." Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together as she dances her fingers along Santana's thigh, her lips parted slightly as she studies Santana's face, trying to read Maribel's words from her girlfriend's expression.

Her mom takes a shaky breath, and Santana can practically hear the tension bleed out of her voice. " _It's alright,_ mija, _I was probably over-reacting a little bit._ "

"Mamí—"

" _I'll call the Pierces and let them know Brittany will be home soon,_ " her mom interrupts brusquely, " _See you soon_."

Santana smiles a little when her mom hangs up; she's about as good at dealing with complicated feelings as Santana is, and she knows the best thing right now is to give her mom some space to unravel her emotions by herself.

"What's going on?" Brittany asks as soon as Santana drops her phone to the blanket beside them.

"It's almost an hour past our curfew," Santana explains, using her free hand to play with the tips of Brittany's soft hair, nearly silver in the moonlight. "They were worried because neither of us were answering our phones and— Well, they thought—"

"Quinn," Brittany realizes quietly.

"Yeah." They're both silent for a long moment, clutching at each other to soothe the thick tension filling the air between them. The entire glee club was forced to acknowledge their own fragility the week of Regionals, sitting in too loud silence in their wedding outfits and trying to process words like _Quinn_ and _T-boned_ and _ambulance_ and _emergency surgery_ and somehow swallow their own fears; it hit Santana and Brittany the hardest, both of them choking on guilt for letting their friendship with Quinn fall to the wayside in the past couple years and wondering if they'd even get the chance to make it up, suddenly realizing how much time they had lost the moment they almost lost Quinn. "Have you heard from her?" she asks quietly.

Brittany stiffens below Santana, her hand flattening against Santana's hip as if she's reassuring herself that Santana's still there, warm and solid and _alive_. "Not since she—" Brittany clears her throat, her pulse throbbing where Santana's forehead is pressed against her neck, "Not since she got home."

"We should go see her, if she's up for it," Santana says quietly.

"I wouldn't even know what to say," Brittany whispers.

Santana thinks for a long moment before she finally shakes her head. "Me neither, but she probably just wants to feel normal after everything."

"Probably," Brittany agrees, both of them weighted down by the almost oppressive worry and fear in the air from the topic. She pulls Santana closer to her until their foreheads are pressed together, their bodies keeping them warm. They just breathe together in silence for long moments, eyes tracing faces they know better than their own in the silvery moonlight, filling in features obscured by shadows from memory. "We should get going," Brittany finally whispers.

Santana meets her eyes, shades of midnight blue in the dark night, reflecting back the entire universe spread above them. Her breath catches somewhere in her chest, her heart pounding all the way down to the fingertips mapping Brittany's neck.

Sometimes, when she catches those blue eyes, she forgets how to breathe, like she's falling in love all over again.

She ducks down and quickly kisses Brittany, sweet and fierce and desperate all at once. Brittany makes a muffled sound of surprise into Santana's mouth before her lips soften and press back to Santana's, her hands slipping back under Santana's jacket and shirt to anchor on warm skin.

Eventually, they manage to untangle from each other, laughing and teasing as they fold up the, now damp, patchwork blanket—that's one of the things that Santana adores so much about being in love with her best friend, that they can so easily flip from serious to goofy like it's nothing. As Brittany playfully tosses the blanket at her head before running away giggling, she can't help but think how boring it must be to not be best friends with your soulmate.

She manages to catch the blanket before it unravels, shouting in faux-anger at Brittany's retreating back before she takes off after her girlfriend. Santana's house is closest to the train tracks, so Brittany parked her car there before they both decided to just walk down to the field. It's the same field they used to play make-believe in when they were younger, back when they were the neighbourhood terrors, running around and playing games from sunup to sundown.

To be completely honest, not much has changed since then; sure, the imaginary monsters that they used to fight have taken on new, very real forms, but Brittany's hand is still clasped with hers, which is all Santana really needs to survive.

She catches up to Brittany a couple feet from the sidewalk—probably only because Brittany let her because, as fit as Santana is, she is nowhere near the athlete that Brittany is—and smacks her with the folded blanket.

"You jerk!" she growls, trying and failing to bite back her smile.

Brittany just grins and wraps her arms around Santana's waist, trapping the blanket between their chests, and swinging her up and around until Santana's shrieking and dizzy with carefree love. Lima is nearly silent at night, the occasional muffled dog barking inside a house or car speeding down an empty street or a catfight in an alley the only thing to break the silence, and it feels like they're the only two people in the world. The stars stretch above them, sparks of brilliance caught in an inky canvas, blocked out only by the trees slowly starting to bud above them instead of the usual golden glow of streetlights lining the neighbourhood.

Santana's squirming finally becomes too much for Brittany to contain, and she lets her girlfriend slide back down to earth, keeping her arms looped around Santana's waist and pressing their foreheads together, keeping the blanket trapped a little awkwardly between them. "I love you," Brittany says easily, and Santana can feel her girlfriend's exhilarated smile where the peaks of Brittany's cheeks brush hers. She wishes it was light enough for her to see the freckles slowly emerging across Brittany's cheeks and nose as the winter sun fades to pale spring, so she can count them without needing to wait for a clear night to trace constellations.

A passing car illuminates Brittany in a flash of gold before her features fade back into the silver of moonlight. "I love you too," she finally answers, knowing her brief distraction and ensuing hesitation hadn't worried Brittany at all based on the unwavering affection in blue eyes.

Brittany's grin widens, making it a little difficult to fit their lips together as she ducks forward to kiss Santana, their noses nuzzled together doing most of the work for the kiss since their mouths are otherwise occupied with smiling. Something deep in Santana's chest flutters widely, something that used to terrify her but now reminds her that she's alive and happier than she could ever begin to describe.

"We should really get going," Santana mumbles against Brittany's lips, because as much as she'd like to spend the rest of the night kissing Brittany right here, she knows her mom would probably kill her.

"Killjoy," Brittany whispers as she pulls back, her pout so adorable that Santana just has to tug her back down to kiss her again.

It takes some convincing and debate inside her own head before she manages to pull away from Brittany, taking a step away before they get caught up in each other again. Brittany catches the blanket before it falls from between them, reaching out with her free hand to, once again, clean the lipgloss from Santana's lips and chin. Santana gently kisses Brittany's fingers as they wipe her mouth, and Brittany makes that soft expression that Santana knows means she's melting, just a little, on the inside and makes Santana feel like just about the best thing in the entire world.

Brittany takes Santana's hand in hers, swinging their arms a little as they head down the sidewalk towards the golden circles of light cast by the street-lamps. Santana smiles at the ground, listening to Brittany talk about anything and everything and feeling Brittany's warm palm against hers throughout her entire body. Brittany tugs them closer together after a moment of amusedly swinging their arms in bigger and bigger arcs, until Santana's shorter arm reaches its limit and she groans. Brittany ducks down to press an absentminded kiss to Santana's temple as she continues to narrate Lord Tubbington's latest antics. A thrill goes through Santana's chest, a lightning arc of pure love and joy at how normal affection is between them now—a year ago and Santana would have fled at even the hint of something more between them, but now it's as easy as breathing.

The walk to the Lopez house passes quicker than either of them would like, but they both know they're in trouble and probably shouldn't push it. Santana can't actually see her mom, but the living room light is on, glowing softly through the curtains, and there's a person shaped shadow that suddenly disappears from the window as they slow to a walk in front of Brittany's car. Brittany blocks Santana's view of her house as she steps in front of her, which is probably for the best because, no matter how much she knows her mom adores Brittany, it still feels a little weird to kiss her girlfriend goodbye in front of the woman who raised her.

Brittany tosses the blanket on the hood of her car so both her hands are free, settling them on Santana's hips and letting her thumbs dip teasingly below Santana's jeans. There's a promise hidden in Brittany's grin, the corners of her lips turning up into more smirk than smile.

"My mom's probably watching us right now," Santana idly reminds her girlfriend.

Brittany grins wolfishly, ducking down in a way that probably looks innocent to anyone watching, but the glint in those blue eyes almost makes Santana's knees buckle. "Good thing she'll only be able see my back then," Brittany murmurs, before kissing Santana hot and wet and demanding, leaving her unsteady and wanting when they part. "I better head home now," Brittany says, and Santana can't even wipe the smug look off her girlfriend's face because she's a little too dizzy to gather her thoughts.

"Rude," she manages, "Leaving me high and dry like that."

Brittany's smug smirk just widens as she leans forward for another kiss. "I don't think dry is the problem," she mutters as she pulls back.

"Get out of here, you ass," Santana retorts with a faux-annoyed eye roll as she pushes her girlfriend towards her car, thankful that the dark hides her blush even though she knows Brittany can definitely hear it in her voice.

Brittany makes obnoxious kissing noises as she grabs the blanket off the hood of her car and rounds it to the driver's side. She opens the door and tosses the blanket into the passenger seat, her smirk softening into an almost shy smile as she looks at her girlfriend over the hood of her car. "Goodnight, Santana," she says quietly, "Love you."

Santana's faux-annoyance immediately sweetens as she returns the smile, admiring the way Brittany somehow glows through the dark, silver and gold in the faint nighttime lights. "Love you too, Britt-Britt. Text me when you get home."

Brittany quickly promises that she will as she ducks into her car, blowing Santana a kiss as she pulls away from the curb. Santana stands there for a long moment, watching as Brittany's taillights glow through the dark like the last embers of a fire before they're extinguished as she turns the corner. A door opening behind her startles her into action, internally wincing as she braces for the lecture she knows she's going to get as soon as she walks up the door.

"You can stand there as long as you want, Santana, but you're still in deep trouble," her mom calls across the yard.

Santana sighs and glances longingly at the spot where Brittany's car disappeared, wishing her girlfriend would come back and kidnap her, taking her to anywhere that's far away from Lima and her mom's irritation for an indiscriminate amount of time; though, knowing her mom, she'd probably still be waiting with her lecture ready no matter if it took two weeks or two years for Santana to walk in the front door.

After a long talking to about what her mom will do to her the next time she ignores her calls or breaks her curfew, and a long, fierce hug that cements the idea that her mom was more scared than angry tonight—something that also cements the fact that Santana is definitely her mother's daughter—she finally sends Santana off to bed. Santana sighs in dramatic relief, earning an unimpressed look from her mom that is tempered only by the slight glow of amusement in her dark eyes. She says goodnight as she heads for the basement, more than ready to collapse into her warm bed; she barely felt the chill in the spring air whiles she was with Brittany, but now that she doesn't have a human furnace to cuddle up to, there's a definite dampness to her clothes that chills her down to the bone.

" _Mija_ ," her mom calls as she heads for the basement. Santana pauses at the top of the stairs, glancing back at her mom and finding her with that same cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk that Santana inherited, and she already knows she's screwed. "Your lipgloss is a little," her mom gestures to her own mouth and chin to demonstrate, "messed up."

Santana's cheeks burn hotly as she tries her best to act nonchalant, and not like her mom just caught her with her girlfriend's lipgloss smudged incriminatingly across her face. "Oh," she says lamely, desperately searching for an excuse, "I must have smudged it on your shoulder when you hugged me."

"Of course," her mom says in an infuriatingly placating way as she heads for her own room. Santana bobs her head and ignores the itch in her hand to wipe the lipgloss away, knowing it would only make it worse. "Goodnight, _mija_."

"Goodnight," Santana says blankly, still frozen to the spot.

"By the way," her mom says casually as she passes, "That colour looks much better on Brittany."

Santana groans, her cheeks somehow burning even more fiercely, and listens to her mom's laughter as she descends the stairs.

Brittany texts her that she's home as soon as Santana reaches her bed, throwing herself face down on it and uselessly willing away her blush. She doesn't even read Brittany's text, just turns her face enough to see the screen and awkwardly texts with one hand.

 _You forgot your lipgloss on my face and now my mom's never going to let me forget it. You are in so much trouble next time we're alone, Pierce._

Brittany's only response is a winky face, and Santana just laughs, smiling giddily into her bedspread as she, impossibly, falls further in love.

* * *

March is snow covered grass and the warming sun, the smell of decay in the air from the snow mould and old leaves slowing being replaced by the damp newness of the first rain; it's mind-numbing fear as the first whispers of the wreckage on the highway reach them, it's clinging to every sign of life when there's nothing else to do but cry, and it's the comfort of warm skin on warm skin under the inky darkness and sparkling stars that offers the sweetest form of reassurance as breaths collide with small puffs of white mist in the chilly night air.

* * *

Santana's knees are still a little weak almost half an hour after the rollercoaster, her insides trembling like they do after kissing Brittany for hours, except much less awesome because the rollercoaster did not involve any sweet lady kisses.

Brittany's fingers are tangled with hers as she drags them around the amusement park, carefree and laughing as they tag along with different friends on different rides. By the time lunch hits, most of them have collectively been on every ride in the park and are starting on their second time through the lines. Brittany wants to go on the teacups again, and she manages to convince Santana to join her with the promise that she won't wildly spin it like she did last time.

Santana sighs and concedes, mollified with a quick kiss as they stand in line by themselves since no one else was crazy enough to go back on the teacups with Brittany because, despite her promises, she's been purposeful in her wildly spinning of teacups, like she's trying to make people nauseous. Without the energizing presence of their friends, Brittany's quiet as they stand beside each other, their fingers loosely tangled by their sides.

Santana knows Brittany has something on her mind, because she's had this distant look in her eyes since Tuesday, but Santana doesn't want to push her; mostly, she's a tiny bit afraid of what has been on Brittany's mind. It seems like every other day there's some sort of melodramatic relationship drama going on in their grade and in the glee club, and as much as Santana has complete faith in their relationship, she's always kind of morbidly expecting the universe to realize she's too happy and take everything away.

It's pretty irrational, she knows, and Brittany's always really good at soothing her dumb fears, but Brittany is the source of those dumb fears this time. She barely even seems to notice that she has kind of really been freaking Santana out because she's been so lost in her own mind.

She shakes her head and shoves her worries to the back of her mind as they get closer to the front of the line, trying to draw Brittany back to her by fiddling with her fingers, pressing down on her knuckles like keys of a piano, swinging their clasped hands back and forth and tickling at her wrist.

Brittany blinks and meets Santana's eyes, the distant look fading as it's replaced by the playful expression she's had for most of the day. Santana grins, glad to see Brittany step back out of her mind, and they step up to the front of the line. She eyes Brittany and then the teacups suspiciously, knowing how likely it is that Brittany will spin them far too fast. "You remember your promise, right?" she checks.

Brittany rocks back and forth on her heels as the ride attendant motions them towards an empty teacup. "I never promised that," she says innocently, "You told me to promise that and I said _uh-huh_."

"I knew that would bite me in the ass," Santana mutters as they slide into the teacup.

"Aww," Brittany smiles, lifting her arm and tugging Santana into her side, "I won't make you _too_ sick."

"You better not 'cause you already did that earlier." Despite the whine in Santana's voice, she quickly snuggles closer to Brittany, nuzzling up against her neck and shoulder and slinging an arm across Brittany's stomach. Mostly, she just wants to cuddle with her girlfriend, but hugging Brittany like this has the added benefit of keeping Brittany relatively restrained and unable to spin them around too crazily.

Brittany quickly kisses the top of Santana's head, giggling against her hair. "I'm sorry you were a casualty of my revenge, babe," she soothes. The ride starts to move in large circles, and Brittany reaches up to the table-like-thingy in the middle to start lazily spinning them in the opposite direction.

"I've never seen Finn turn so many different shades of green," Santana admits with a wide smirk.

Brittany snorts, and Santana doesn't even need to look at her to know she's rolling her eyes. "Not enough shades, clearly," she says haughtily.

Santana just grins and snuggles closer to Brittany. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" With a quick flick of of wrist, Brittany sends them spinning wildly, causing Santana to shriek at the sudden movement and clutch at Brittany, muffling her laughter against the collar of Brittany's letterman jacket. "But I still love you," Santana adds.

Brittany takes her hand off the table and uses it to tug Santana even closer to her, letting their teacup slow to an almost stop. "You better," she teases.

Santana playfully pinches Brittany's stomach, smiling as Brittany giggles and pretending she's not as charmed by Brittany as she is. They spend the rest of the ride aimlessly chatting and cuddling, taking a small breather from rushing around the amusement park with the glee club. As they get off the ride, they decide to meet up with their friends for a snack before they continue on with rides; Santana quickly texts Mercedes to find out where the rest glee club is hiding out. Brittany tugs them along for a couple minutes until Santana finally looks up and realizes they're heading in the wrong direction.

Santana giggles and tugs Brittany to a stop. "The food stands are the other way," she says.

Brittany glances around and shrugs, the tips of her ears pinking. "I thought we could take the scenic route," she deflects.

Santana laughs at her embarrassed sheepishness, bouncing up on her toes to quickly peck Brittany on the lips. "S'okay, gives us more alone time away from the divas," she promises comfortingly; Brittany is adorable, despite the fact that she lacks even the slightest sense of direction.

Brittany's embarrassment eases as they turn to head back the way they came, weaving around giggling children and snickering teenagers and bored adults until they reach a less busy path. Santana texts Mercedes to let her know they're on their way, and by the time she slides her phone back into her pocket, Brittany has fallen back into her own mind again. She's chewing on her lip, her eyes scanning the path they're walking along; Santana's stomach clenches uncomfortably because she knows that look—it means that Brittany is ready to reveal what ever it is that's been bothering her lately.

"Hey, Santana," Brittany says suddenly, her voice small and quiet, dragging her feet across the path, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Santana frowns at Brittany's uncharacteristic shyness, ducking her head to try and meet blue eyes. Brittany avoids her gaze completely, and something deep in Santana's chest twists painfully, all her old fears instantly manifesting as her mind immediately goes to worst case scenario. "Yeah, of course," she says thickly, "You can talk to me about anything, you know that." Brittany only nods nervously and Santana tries to swallow the bile rising in her throat, bracing herself for Brittany to tell her that she's dying or breaking up with her or moving away to join the circus or whatever other awful (and, admittedly, ridiculous) scenario that Santana's fear-addled brain can come up with.

"I know I can," Brittany promises, "it's just—" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, reaching for Santana's hand. She leads them to a bench on the side of the path, half hidden in the shadow of the blooming shrubs and trees lining most of the walkways of the park. They both sit down, the scant few inches separating them feeling like a chasm to the demons whispering in Santana's ear. Brittany tightens her fingers until they're clutching Santana's hand almost painfully, but she still doesn't meet Santana's eyes.

The tense silence quickly becomes too much for Santana and she angles her body towards Brittany so their knees press together, placing her other hand on top of their clasped ones and trying not to clutch at Brittany's fingers too desperately. "Britt," she says softly, "you're kind of freaking me out."

Brittany startles a little, finally meeting Santana's eyes with wide, worried ones, before quickly dropping her gaze back to their tangled fingers in her lap. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Santana swallows thickly and squeezes her hand. "What's going on, Britt?" she whispers.

Brittany clears her throat and shuffles her feet a little. "You know how I got called to the office the other day?" she finally asks. Santana just nods, a small part of her relaxing because this means that whatever it is that's worrying Brittany isn't their relationship like she feared—she _knew_ that her fears were completely irrational, but the larger part of her is still worried because that's kind of how irrational fears work.

"Well, it wasn't because of an issue with my school fees like I said," Brittany finally continues. "It was— They were delayed for a while but they— They finally got my SAT scores back."

She falls silent again and Santana scooches closer on the bench until their thighs are pressed comfortably together. Her fears about Brittany breaking up with her or something quickly get pushed to the back of her mind; she knows how hard Brittany studied for her exams, and she knows how worried Brittany was that she wouldn't achieve the scores she needed to be fully accepted—the school she applied to accepts February testing for it's applications, which meant she had more time to study, but also meant that there's no second chances. Santana has the upmost belief in Brittany's intelligence, but she also knows that test anxiety can strike at the most inopportune time, and Santana's heart breaks at the uncertain look on her girlfriend's face.

"What did they say, Britt?" she prompts gently.

Brittany takes a deep breath and finally meets Santana's eyes. "I got a 2340. And an almost perfect score on my math SAT."

"You— You got— You what?" Santana stutters, Brittany's words not quite processing through her earlier haze of worry.

Brittany shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the ground. "I got a near-perfect 2340 on my SAT," she repeats.

Santana's limbs finally unfreeze from her shock and she launches herself at Brittany, landing practically in her lap and laughing right into her ear. "Oh my god," she rambles around her smile, "Oh my god, Britt, that's amazing! You're so incredible. I'm _so_ proud of you! That's so— You're so— Oh my god, I love you so much."

Brittany finally relaxes, sinking into Santana's clinging embrace and burying her nose in Santana's neck, letting out a breathless, relieved laugh.

When Santana manages to compose herself and pull back, it's only so she can kiss Brittany instead, far too deeply than she usually would in public, but her girlfriend's a certified fucking genius who just blew the SAT out of the water, so she doesn't really care.

Brittany's wide smile makes it hard to maintain the kiss, so Santana breaks it to scatter kisses all over Brittany's face instead, clumsy and graceless because she's so giddy with pride and excitement for her girlfriend.

"Oh my god," she repeats against Brittany's cheek, "That's such amazing news, Brittany! You should have told me as soon as you found out so we could celebrate properly. I know it's technically your turn because I did it last week but I get to plan the next date, okay? I gotta spoil you because you're fucking incredible. Geez, why aren't you shouting this from the rooftops?"

Brittany ducks her head a little, causing Santana to pull back just enough for her to see Brittany's face. "I didn't want you to treat me differently, 'cause like Mr. Dunngan won't stop calling on me in class now and it's kind of scary," Brittany admits sheepishly, "Or, like, think I cheated or something. That's what a lot of the teachers thought."

Santana shakes her head wordlessly, her smile splitting her face as she takes Brittany's hands in hers, pulling them towards her so she can press a long kiss to each of Brittany's palms. "You're a genius, Britt-Britt," she says surely, as easy as saying her own name, "I've always known that. It just took the school system a while to catch up."

Brittany blushes all the way from the tips of her ears down to her neck; Santana knows that if she were to strip Brittany of her shirt, she'd be flushed down to her navel too. "Thank you," she whispers.

Santana smiles and leans forward to press their foreheads together, nuzzling her nose against Brittany's so that their lips just barely brush. "For what?"

Brittany's eyes are the brightest shade of blue Santana's ever seen, so much more beautiful than the spring sky above them, and Santana's breath hitches at the pure love reflected back at her. "For believing in me," Brittany murmurs.

Santana shrugs helplessly and smiles more with her eyes than her lips. "I don't know how to do anything else," she says simply.

Brittany shakes her head a little before ducking forward and kissing her until they're both breathless and glowing, only drawn apart by Santana's phone dinging. Santana reluctantly pulls away to dig her phone out of her pocket, never straying too far from Brittany, absently rubbing her fingers along the back of Brittany's neck as she checks her text messages. "Mercedes is wondering where we are, and why we aren't saving our fellow Troubletone from the rest of the glee kids," she relays with a grin.

Brittany chuckles and bounces up off the bench, tugging Santana up after her and seeming about a billion times lighter. "We better go rescue her so you're not singing all by your lonesome come Nationals."

Santana hums contemplatively as she lets Brittany drag her down the path. "It'd be nice to solo our entire number, but also I'm pretty sure Mercedes would come back and haunt me at the most inopportune moments."

"Oh, one hundred percent," Brittany agrees, throwing a smirk over her should that makes Santana feel bright on the inside, "And no way am I risking our privacy because Ghost-Mercedes wants revenge."

Santana laughs and skips half a step to catch up with Brittany, falling in step with her instead of trailing behind. Brittany smiles at her and leans down to kiss her on the temple, only stumbling slightly, before they focus fully on navigating to the food stands.

The rest of the glee kids are scattered around a collection of three picnic tables, and Brittany and Santana wave at them in greeting before turning to scan the food stands. They choose the same place to save time, and Santana quickly steps up to pay for her and Brittany's lunches before Brittany can even tug her wallet out from her jacket pocket. Brittany protests, but Santana just silences her with a quick kiss after she takes her change. Their food is ready quickly, and they head for the tables and plop down beside Mercedes, who rolls her eyes at them as Rachel launches into a soliloquy about how perfect Finn is for winning her stuffed toys or something— _again_ , because she had told them all this before the rollercoaster, and after the rollercoaster, and about seven other times. From the look on Mercedes face, Santana guesses that Rachel still hasn't shut up about it.

Santana chews absently on her fries as she stares at Rachel, trying to figure out exactly how that much ego fits into such a dwarfish body.

"Hey, Mayor of Loserville," Santana finally interrupts, "I know you're a senile old crone suffering from Alzheimer's and fashion from the '70s, but that doesn't mean the rest of us are. We heard you go on and on about this the first time."

"Santana, I wouldn't expect you to quite understand the depths of a love such as the one Finn and I share—"

"Imma stop you right there dwarf," Santana interrupts again. Brittany's hand finds her's under the table, her fingers tickling approvingly over her inner wrist and causing an almost violent shiver to run down her spine. "I won't even attempt to explain to you why aspiring to the love story of a skyscraper and a hobbit is the last thing in the universe I'd ever do, because I honestly could think of a billion better ways to waste my time. But while your giant Frankenteen was wasting precious braincells throwing rings onto bottle necks, my girlfriend was—as always—being a certified fucking genius."

"What?"

Santana glances at Brittany to check that it's alright for her to share the news, and despite the pink splotching along Brittany's cheeks and obscuring her emerging freckles, she smiles shyly and nods. Santana beams at her before turning to the rest of the glee kids and immediately bragging about her brilliant girlfriend, pride glowing through her until she feels almost too full with it. Brittany's fingers twine with hers, her blush deepening as their friends all crowd around them and congratulate Brittany on her score, her blue eyes sparkling at Santana the entire time, adoring and sweet and soft and soft and soft.

* * *

March comes and goes in the quiet moments, with sunny days and lettermen jackets that don't hide tangled fingers like they used to, with days quickly counting down to end of school and the start of their lives, with friends laughing and shrieking in carefree amusement far away from the confines of school, with indescribable pride at the realization that a system which had only ever neglected was finally accepting, gratified in a way that could only be expressed by shouting from the rooftops, sweet and bright and overjoyed.

* * *

Brittany and Santana try to be on time for their weekly Troubletones dinner at Breadstix, they really do—it's just, Brittany's sister throws a slight meltdown as they are about to leave the Pierce's, and Whitney has to enlist the help of her oldest daughter to try and calm the tantrum.

Brittany and Santana exchange a look as Brittany bends down to pick her sister up off the floor, her shoulders flexing as she hoists the munchkin up into her arms because her mom's back has been bothering her lately. The two Pierce women carry the youngest one off to her room, her sobs echoing throughout the house and breaking Santana's heart a little bit. She toes her shoes off and heads for the living room to hang out in the big armchair her and Brittany usually claim during movie night to wait for her girlfriend to finish calming the munchkin.

She doesn't even realize Pierce is sitting on the couch until she's flopped down into the chair and glances up to see him making funny faces at her. She startles a little before laughing; as much as him and Brittany are completely opposite in appearance, they are the exact same in all the ways it really counts, like their smiles and senses of humour and ability to make Santana laugh so hard her stomach hurts.

"She's been having a lot of meltdowns lately," Santana says, nodding towards the stairs as a particularly loud wail reaches them.

"It's because Lord Tubbington has rejoined the gang again and is stealing all the ice cream in the house to pay off the mob after him," Pierce says with a completely blank face. Santana snorts and grins at him, recognizing the sparkle in his eyes that his deadpan can't quite hide. Pierce manages to keep his straight face for another moment before it softens into something more serious and a little sad. "We think she's having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you girls are going to be moving away soon. Every time Brittany mentions grad she gets that angry face Britt used to make when that one boy was bothering you two."

"Yeah, well Puck was and still is a little bit—" Santana cuts herself off and remembers who she's talking to, her cheeks warming a little. "Jerk. He's a jerk." Pierce gives Santana a slightly chiding look that says he knows what she was about to say, but that he agrees despite his parental duty to scold cursing. Santana grins sheepishly before her smile falters, bringing her legs up onto the chair and hugging them tightly. "She's really having a hard time?"

Pierce sighs, his lips twitching into a poor attempt to smile. "I think we're all having a hard time with the idea that you two are almost all grown up and off to college now." Santana's stomach drops a little, and it must show on her face because Pierce leans forward with an understanding expression, his dark eyes comforting and warm. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Santana. We're all so proud of you and Britt. We'll just miss you."

Santana tightens her arms around her legs. "We're gonna miss you guys too," she says around the sudden lump in her throat. Pierce just smiles, his eyes drawn away from Santana as Brittany appears in the entryway of the living room.

"Mom said she could use your help," Brittany explains, pointing up the stairs. The munchkin isn't screaming or wailing anymore, but her tiny little sniffles still drift down the stairs.

Pierce chuckles and stands. "We've almost got a whole new system down for this," he grins at his daughter. He ruffles Santana's hair fondly as he passes—just like he has since she was half his height—and gives Brittany a one-armed hug, trying to discretely press some money for supper into Brittany's hand before he ambles up the stairs.

Brittany calls her _thanks_ as she pockets the money, moving across the living room to stand in front of Santana with a sad smile. "The munchkin's mad at me," she says.

Santana drops her legs to the ground and wraps her arms around Brittany's waist to tug her close, nuzzling her face into Brittany's stomach and dropping a kiss to her bellybutton through the soft fabric of her shirt. "Your dad said it's because she's having a hard time about us graduating and moving away."

Brittany threads her fingers through Santana's dark hair, smiling softly down at her cuddly girlfriend. "I promised I'd call her every day, and that we would Skype every week too. She agreed on the condition that you're also there when we Skype."

Santana's laughter is a little muffled by Brittany's shirt, so she draws her head back to tip it up at Brittany, resting her chin on Brittany's stomach instead. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Brittany's smile softens and she ducks down to kiss Santana, feeling her love for her girlfriend grow about a billion times bigger because of the fact that she loves Brittany's family as if it were her own; in a lot of ways, Brittany supposes it is. "I also promised her a movie night with the two of us this weekend. That calmed her down a little."

"I'll pick up the pizza and snacks," Santana offers, and Brittany has to duck down to kiss Santana again because the love bubbling up inside her needs somewhere to go before she bursts with joy and adoration.

"We should really get going," Brittany mumbles against Santana's mouth, pulling away enough to speak but not enough to fully disconnect their lips, "Mercedes is probably ready to kill us."

Santana laughs, the sound buzzing against Brittany's lips and causing her to squirm from how it tickles. "I told her we were dealing with a meltdown of epic proportions, so she promised to order for us."

"Dr. Pepper and sp—"

"And spaghetti with extra meatballs," Santana interrupts with a chuckle, "I've had your order memorized since we were like twelve, Britt-Britt."

Brittany beams and slips her hands under Santana's upper arms to tug her up into her embrace, kissing her firmly and quickly in thanks. "Let's go," she murmurs, tugging Santana to the front door. They slip their shoes on and Brittany calls her _see you later_ s up to her parents, promising to be home before nine as they head out to Brittany's car.

Lima is tiny, so it only takes five minutes to make it to Breadstix once they finally leave the Pierce's house, their hands tangled on the console and singing at the top of their lungs the entire way.

Mercedes waves them over as soon as she spots them, sitting by herself on one side of the bench with three drinks on the table. Brittany and Santana quickly cross the restaurant and slide in across from her—Santana first, and then Brittany, so that their dominant arms won't knock elbows while they eat. Brittany quickly gives the run down of what delayed them almost twenty minutes, and Mercedes makes sympathetic noises at the situation.

"I was older than your sister when my brother left for college but it was still hard," Mercedes explains, "I mean, it was so weird because he had, you know, _always_ been there and then suddenly he was hours away. I imagine it's harder for your sister because she's still so young."

"Yeah, I feel bad because she keeps pouting and sulking around the house but," Brittany shrugs helplessly and glances at Santana, "We have to leave, you know? We can't stay in this town."

Mercedes expression hardens even as her eyes turn inward and sad. "I know. You two need to be somewhere where you won't be looking over your damn shoulders every time you wanna hold hands."

Santana shifts uncomfortably against Brittany's side, her eyes casting around the restaurant. She doesn't regret the fact that she's able to hug and kiss her girlfriend in public now, Brittany knows that neither of them do. But because of the fact that they were so viciously outed instead of being able to control the narrative, there's still a spark of fear that grips both of them whenever someone's eyes linger a little too long on their clasped hands.

"I just wish my sister wasn't so sad all the time," Brittany continues, all three of them wanting to avoid bumming themselves out this early into dinner.

"It'll get better," Mercedes promises. "She probably won't stop missing you, but she'll get used to you not being there all the time. I cried a lot when my brother first left, but it got easier once I got busy with school and stuff."

"I didn't know having a sibling turned you into such a crybaby," Santana teases.

Mercedes rolls her eyes and gently kicks Santana's shin under the table. "You just don't get it, girl. There's nothing you wouldn't do for them, but you'd also sell their soul for a single tater tot."

"That's 'cause I'm an only child," Santana replies drolly, a small smirk playing on her lips, "Of course I don't get it."

"Yeah, we _know_ ," Brittany and Mercedes say at the same time, teasing and amused.

"Rude," Santana scowls, her frown twisting up into a smile as soon as she feels Brittany's fingers slide against her palm.

Their waitress appears just then, glancing warily at Brittany and Santana as she sets their meals down in front of them. Mercedes thanks her as they quickly dig in, all of them starving after having an exhausting glee rehearsal right after school.

"I still can't believe Mr. Schue doesn't have _any_ songs picked out for Nationals," Mercedes says suddenly, "Like, absolutely nothing prepared at all."

Brittany swallows her bite of spaghetti and glances up at Mercedes. "We have it narrowed down to two songs for the Troubletones number, right?"

Santana nods, her fork bouncing a little with the movement and spilling her fettuccine back onto her plate, grumbling as she scoops it back up. "Yeah, but I think we're leaning more towards the Lady Gaga one." Mercedes nods her agreement, her mouth full. "The other two are good songs but," Santana shrugs and finally manages to get a forkful of fettuccine to her mouth, "We weren't really feeling the arrangements."

Brittany's fingers squeeze Santana's in agreement. "That makes choreographing easier to be honest. Adele would have been awesome to do again, obviously, but _Edge of Glory_ has an easier beat to follow, especially for the other Troubletones who aren't used to show choir choreography."

"I swear to god, if Hips trips into me one more time Imma 'bout to go all Lima Heights on her ass," Santana grumbles, the fresh bruise on her shin throbbing in agreement.

Brittany giggles and nudges Santana with her shoulder. "I'll make sure to choreograph her on the other side of the stage then," she promises teasingly.

Santana pretends she's not melting into a puddle of love and adoration at Brittany's statement, but based on the smirk spreading across Mercedes face, she's failing spectacularly. "Thanks," she mumbles, hiding her blush at being caught being all mushy or whatever by shovelling a large mouthful of fettuccine in her mouth. "Have you heard if any of the other losers have been doing Mr. Schue's job for him and come up with an idea?"

Brittany snorts and drops her fork on her plate to take a quick sip of her Dr. Pepper, smirking around the straw between her teeth. "I dunno but I'm pretty sure Sue's about ready to kill them all. Like _actually_ kill them. The past couple years were nothing compared to now."

Mercedes laughs a little. "Thank God that you two are on the Troubletones, because it more or less protects me from her wrath."

Santana smirks. "She's used to having a Nationals routine picked out and perfected by September. Honestly, I'm surprised that we've even gotten this far considering how utterly abysmal Mr. Schue's organizational skills are."

"Kurt mentioned something about doing Meatloaf or something," Mercedes relays.

"But I thought this was a singing competition. I'm not good enough at cooking to compete in Nationals," Brittany deadpans.

Santana takes a long sip of her drink to try and hide her amusement. Mercedes stares at Brittany in utter confusion, until she recognizes the glint in her eyes. She fondly rolls her eyes and shakes her head a little. "Girl, you had me there for a second," she complains, pointing her fork at Brittany, "You've really just been making fun of us this whole time, haven't you?"

Brittany's lips twitch but she manages to maintain her deadpan. "I would never," she says, her voice cracking just a little under the weight of trying to suppress her laughter.

Mercedes rolls her eyes and takes a mouthful of her ravioli. "I can't believe you spent all these years convincing us all that you were confused like ninety percent of the time, when you were just trolling us all." She smiles and bumps her feet against Brittany's, her words laced with easy affection.

Santana beams at Brittany and tugs her hand a little until they're leaning into each other a little, their shoulders and arms warm and comforting where they press against together. "My girl's a trolling genius," Santana says proudly. Brittany swallows the meatball she was chewing, but it feels more like she just swallowed a swarm of tropical butterflies because a fluttering warmth spreads through her limbs as her skin tingles. Santana's smile remains steady on her, soft and adoring, and she ducks down to give Santana a chaste kiss, because as nice as it is to have friends who finally understand her, it's even nicer to know that Santana's been there all along, ever since that first week of kindergarten, having never ever needed a guide to understand how Brittany's brain works.

* * *

April is colours blooming and songbirds chirping, life re-imbuing once again everything with colour in the fading winter white; it's the the resilience of the fresh green of spring surviving one last snowstorm as the cold tries to maintain a grasp on the world, it's growing excitement and wonder in the face of a looming future, it's dancing the whole night away in front of the school like the best dream coming true, and it's finally feeling the sense of belonging that had once been so elusive, finally understanding that a crown doesn't matter nearly as much as tangled fingers and lingering kisses under the cheap gymnasium lights.

* * *

If she's being honest, Brittany's never really understood what the big deal with grad dates was. Most of the girls in their grade have had grad dates for senior prom picked out since they were all freshmen; Brittany could barely even picture what tomorrow would look like back then, let alone pick who she would take as her date to prom in four years. She knows that she's not the same person she was in freshmen year, and she knows that Santana isn't either, both of which she's actually really thankful for. She loved Santana back then too—of course she did; how could she not when Santana is so easy to love?—and she knows Santana loved her too, but it was so hard back then. They were still so young and confused and scared that they almost tore each other apart. But now she can love Santana in the open and not be afraid of scaring her away; they can hold hands in the hallways and cuddle in the lunchroom and kiss each other goodbye, all things they couldn't do back in freshmen year or sophomore or junior year because neither of them were ready to love the other the way they needed to be loved quite yet.

Which is why she thinks it's so dumb to have decided something like a prom date four years ago, because nobody is the same as they were back when they were fourteen, and especially since some people in their grade haven't even spoken to their grad date since freshmen year.

It leads to a lot of snickering between her and Santana as they watch yet another unfortunate senior be cornered by someone they promised to go to prom with four years ago, which is almost always followed by the most awkward conversation either of the poor teenagers have probably ever had, their expressions stuck somewhere between constipated and disgusted. Brittany's just really glad to have Santana by her side, both of them trying—and failing—to hide their laughter as the other Cheerios lament the poor decisions they made when they were freshmen.

She meets Santana's eyes from a couple feet away and has to stick her head in her locker to keep from bursting out into laughter at the face Santana pulls when Peggy Russell starts complaining about having to go to prom with Liam Westbury—a boy who was cute enough when he was fourteen, but has since tried to launch his rap career from his family farm.

Brittany thinks Liam Westbury could have a rap career the way viral videos of hilariously awful singers have careers. Peggy Russell seems to agree based on her loud complaints of the promposal rap Liam Westbury tried to serenade her with.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made any lasting decisions when you still thought two-toned hair looked good," Santana comments idly.

"Easy for you to say," Peggy complains, "Brittany's, like, the perfect gentleman compared to Liam."

"And a better rapper," Brittany agrees. Santana snorts as she packs things into her Cheerios bag, her eyes sparkling and a proud grin playing at her lips. "Not that it takes much to be better than his country boy drawl."

Peggy giggles and finishes changing, the collar of her shirt leaving her ponytail lopsided and half falling out as she pulls it on. "You guys got your dresses already, right?"

Brittany immediately starts pouting and lets her shoulders droop into a disheartened slump. "She won't let me see," she whines.

Santana straightens and refuses to meet Brittany's petulant expression, knowing how easily Brittany can make her cave with that deadly pout of hers. "This one's been bugging me to see the dress since I got it."

"So I know what I should wear!" Brittany immediately defends. "Do you want us to look like a pair of mismatched socks up there?" And okay, sure, she _has_ been begging Santana for _months_ to at least get a peak at the dress for practical reasons, but she also wants to see it because she's impatient and she knows Santana is going to look stunningly beautiful, and she really wants to see Santana in her dress as soon as possible.

"I told you it was red," Santana says with a fond eye roll, having had this conversation about a billion times.

"But that could be _any_ shade," Brittany whines, having given that same argument about a billion times.

Peggy is watching their conversation with a tiny smile playing at her lips, pausing in packing her Cheerios bag to watch one of the captains and their choreographer teasingly argue with each other.

Santana glances up and catches the warm look on Peggy's face, immediately bristling defensively. "What are you staring at? The fact that you choose a little Soundcloud rapping farm boy as your date isn't my fault, so back your jeepers creepers peepers up afores I ends you."

Peggy just rolls her eyes and shrugs; after knowing Santana since they were Junior Cheerios in middle school, she has long since become immune to her signature venom. "You two are cute, is all," she says easily.

Santana blinks and shrinks back a little. Something in Brittany's chest flutters brightly, recognizing Santana's flush more from her bashful head bob and twisting hands rather than an outright blush. She's so adorable that Brittany kind of wants to wrap her in her arms and spin her around and never let go, but there's not enough space in the locker room to do that, so instead she just gives Santana her most in-love smile. It causes Santana to duck her head even further, the tiny smile playing on her lips is about the cutest thing in the entire world and makes Brittany feel like she's melting through the floor.

"I can ask Lord Tubbington to slash Liam's tires so he won't be able to pick you up," she says to Peggy, redirecting the conversation as she closes and locks her locker, trying to give Santana some time to recompose herself. "We've been trying to break his gang affiliations but it's hard—something about blood ties or whatever—so he's still got an obsession with doing illegal stuff."

Peggy opens her mouth to respond but quickly snaps it closed, blinking in confusion at Brittany, who just grins encouragingly and tries not to crack under the adoring look Santana throws her way. "Thanks, Brittany," Peggy says slowly, "But, uh, I'll figure something else out."

Brittany shrugs and shoulders her Cheerios bag. "Well, I'll let him know in case you change your mind last minute."

Santana's giggles are muffled as she pulls her rain jacket on, locking her own locker and shouldering her Cheerios bag. "Later, loser," she says to Peggy as her and Brittany head out of the locker room.

"Bye, bitch," Peggy calls back around a smirk as the door swings shut behind them.

Brittany immediately reaches for Santana's hand, tangling their fingers together as they walk down the hall. It's darker than usual with the rainclouds hanging shadowy and heavy over Lima, the florescent lights casting the hallway in sharper contrast than usual as the artificial light is forced to work twice as hard to illuminate the school without the assistance of the sun. The school is silent aside from their footsteps and the rustle of their rain jackets and the distant sound of thunder drowning out the rain pelting the windows.

"Hey, are you picking me up then?" Santana asks suddenly. "For prom, I mean. 'Cause I— Well, my mom's working and I can't use the car so."

Brittany swings their arms and bites back a grin. "Well," she drawls, "I was kinda expecting you to pick me up since you asked me to prom."

"But—"

"I mean, you still have your bike, right? If you won't have the car, you can just improvise, right? I can sit in your basket and honk the horn when we pull up. It'd be easier than renting a limo."

Santana looks lost for a second before she smacks Brittany gently in the stomach; Brittany releases the strap of her bag and catches Santana's hand, holding it against her as she tugs them to a stop. "You dork," Santana complains with a fond eye roll, "You had me there for a second."

Brittany grins and releases Santana's hand so she can drop her Cheerios bag by their feet, draping her arm over Santana's shoulder to draw them closer together, their rain jackets scratching against each other. "Of course I'll pick you up in my carriage, Cinderella."

Santana's nose wrinkles so adorably that Brittany just has to duck down and kiss it. "You don't really think I'm Cinderella, do you?" she asks, her voice dripping with distaste.

Brittany giggles and rocks them back and forth. "Definitely not. If any one's Cinderella it's Sugar because she's _always_ losing her vests and sweaters and stuff at our houses, and I'm not convinced she didn't emerge from a pumpkin instead of someone's uterus."

"Yeah," Santana agrees around her grin, "The pumpkin spice perfume is a little much."

Brittany nods seriously as she draws them closer together, holding her pensive expression for half a beat before she smiles and kisses Santana, swallowing her girlfriend's slightly startled noise. Santana quickly recovers and lets her own Cheerios bag fall beside Brittany's as she slides her hands around Brittany's waist, their other hands still tangled and partially squished between their thighs as they sink into each other.

"Hi," Brittany sighs as she draws back a little.

Santana giggles against Brittany's lips as she follows Brittany's mouth. "Hi."

"I missed you all day," Brittany whispers as if she's telling a secret, "It really sucks when they schedule student council and prom meetings so early 'cause then I can't get my good morning kisses."

Santana hums her agreement, her lips sliding across Brittany's jaw as she nuzzles into her girlfriend. "It is your duty to serve the people though, Madame President."

Brittany grins into Santana's hair, tightening her arm around Santana's shoulder and feeling Santana's smile press to her neck. "A duty I do reluctantly when it takes me away from you," she says charmingly, her grin widening when Santana pinches her hips teasingly. A thought suddenly strikes her and she bounces up on her toes, dislodging a disgruntled Santana from her neck. "Wait, if I'm picking you up do I get to give you a corsage?" Brittany asks, excitement starting to bubble in her stomach at the thought of picking out the flowers that will stay on Santana's wrist all night.

Santana pulls away from Brittany enough that she can meet her gaze, her brown eyes glowing brightly. "Only if I get to give you one too." Her hand slides under Brittany's jacket and shirt until it anchors on warm skin, scratching lightly as Brittany arches into the sensation like a cat.

Brittany beams and finally releases Santana's hand so she can wrap it around her girlfriend, tugging them into a full embrace that they would usually never share on school property. But she figures it's alright considering how deserted the school is right now and the fact that Brittany can't control the excitement bubbling in her stomach at the thought of picking Santana up, of sliding a corsage onto her wrist, of dancing with her all night. She already knows this prom will be so much better than last year's because, as much fun as stealing everyone's dates was, nothing can compare to the thought of having Santana in her arms all night.

"You have to show me your dress then," Brittany begs, "So I know what type of corsage to pick out."

"Nu-huh," Santana laughs, teasingly pinching Brittany's side until she's squirming in her embrace, "Not a chance."

Brittany pouts and dramatically flops her weight onto Santana, trusting her girlfriend to catch her and hold her steady. "Not even a peek?" she pouts.

Santana kisses Brittany's shoulder and heaves Brittany back onto her feet. "I'll send you a picture of the colour," she finally concedes, "But that's all."

Brittany sighs and blows a raspberry on Santana's neck, tightening her arms around Santana so she can't escape when she tries to squirm away from Brittany's vibrating lips. "Lame," she says, "I'll just go to Maribel."

"Good luck with that." Santana shrieks as Brittany blows another raspberry, this one at the hinge of Santana's jaw, all her usually sensitive spots turning ticklish under Brittany's assault. "She's the one who suggested that I keep my dress a secret from you."

"Double lame," Brittany complains against Santana's jaw. "It's a Lopez Conspiracy against me!"

"You dork," Santana laughs as Brittany alternates between sucking kisses and ticklish raspberries, slowly making her way back to Santana's lips.

"Your dork," Brittany corrects.

"My dork," Santana agrees, smiling so wide that it's hard for Brittany to kiss her properly—which doesn't mean she stops trying; by far Brittany's favourite way to kiss Santana is when they're both smiling, because nothing in the world compares to feeling Santana's happiness against her own.

Distant footsteps force them to pull away from each other, glancing down the hallway and seeing a couple Cheerios exiting the locker room. Santana lazily pulls Brittany back for another brief kiss before detangling from her girlfriend enough to grab her discarded bag with one hand and Brittany's hand in her other.

Warmth sparks in Brittany's stomach as she picks up her own bag, and she can't help but marvel at how far Santana has come—at how far they've _both_ come—since this time last year. Spring of junior year was so hard, and there were days when they didn't talk to each other at all, days that turned into sleepless nights as Brittany stared at her ceiling and grew sick with all the pain and fear and guilt inside. Her chest tightens a little, just thinking about how Santana grew meaner because she grew sadder, and how she herself grew passive because she grew scared.

What she realizes now is just how much of a difference a year can make, something that seemed so impossible at the time. But the Santana of junior year and the Santana currently holding her hand are worlds apart in their journey, and so is the Brittany of last year and who she is now. Just a year ago and they were both so scared all the time, dodging the thorns on the cages they built and enforced themselves; and it took tearing their hearts against their own barbs, and then against each other's barbs, in order to get to a place where they could fully love each the way they both needed and deserved.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" Brittany asks suddenly.

Santana looks startled for a moment before her expression softens, her eyes growing warm and bright and fathomless. "Yeah, Britt, I do," she says simply, easily, as if it's a truth she's always known. Brittany smiles at her feet, trying to contain the goofy smile that's threatening to overwhelm her. Santana squeezes her hand, tangling their fingers tighter together. "What about you?"

Brittany finally meets Santana's gaze and offers her a slightly shy smile, her stomach twisting up in knots even while her heart beats strong and sure. "Same. I mean— Yeah, I do too."

Santana tugs on Brittany's arm until she can kiss her, a little clumsily since they slow their pace but don't stop walking. "Score," she mumbles teasingly.

Brittany laughs, the sound lost against Santana's lips, "That's my line."

Santana just kisses her one more time before drawing back with a small smirk. Brittany's breath catches at the love glowing in Santana's eyes, and it just confirms her belief in soulmates because she understands things like forever and limits and infinity, and she understands how all of those things add up to create one soul in two bodies, and she understands how a soul vibrates and trembles that first time it recognizes itself in another's body.

She's known it since Santana took her hand that first week of kindergarten.

* * *

April comes and goes in the quiet moments, with time spent twining even closer together until the missing parts of one's soul is rediscovered in warm smiles, with moments intended to weave friendships that would last for a lifetime, with the feeling of finally coming full circle since the start of friendship into something more, with mornings laying tangled together and listening to the songbirds start up their calls again after a long a cruel winter, longing in reverse as all the memories of wishing for adulthood as a kid too young to know what it really meant become nostalgic rather than yearning, realizing that all their dreams from back then would eventually bloom into more than they could ever have imagined.

* * *

"Come on guys, you have to focus."

Brittany glances up from her spot hunched over the auditorium desk and meets Santana's annoyed gaze from across the room. She stifles a giggle into her hand as Santana dramatically rolls her eyes and mimes pulling a trigger on the finger gun she holds to her temple; Santana beams at Brittany's amusement, bouncing a little on her toes and obviously delighted to have entertained her girlfriend across the auditorium. Mercedes looks equally as bored, and Sugar is filing her nails while lounging on the piano bench, not even pretending to pay attention to the rehearsal. They were pretty spoiled while they were just the Troubletones, because Ms. Corcoran had a really good way of holding their attention and focusing their energy on rehearsal; Mr. Schue is pretty disorganized and, without the guiding, albeit military style, hand of one Sue Sylvester—who is off at some meeting or something—the rehearsal has long since derailed. Most of the glee kids are in various states of daydreams as Mr. Schue focuses his attention on only one thing at a time.

Brittany's pretty lucky because she's in one of the comfortable auditorium desk chairs with Mike, mostly out of earshot of the rehearsal so they can work on choreography, while the rest of the glee club are forced to stand or sit on the stage. Mike's really good at figuring out things like transitions and different types of partner dance, while Brittany focuses mostly on spacing and staging and symmetry.

Brittany knows she knows staging really well. It's one of the few things that she just gets, mostly because it's one of the things that never makes her frustrated. She knows she's not dumb—not like Finn is dumb—but sometimes when she doesn't get something she gets frustrated with it and herself, and it makes her just give up on it and accept that she just won't ever get it; especially when everyone else is already expecting her to fail, because it doesn't exactly motivate her to keep trying.

But she gets staging; it doesn't make her frustrated because it comes second nature to her. She can see the way people move around each other while choreographing because, in a lot of ways, it's analytical and creative, utilizing what Santana has cutely deemed her _math brain_ and combining it with her natural talent for dance. She gets math—she really does, her SAT scores a testament to that—but it's just hard when all the teachers over-explain everything and cause her to overthink it; she always understands mathematical concepts until the teachers start breaking it down because that's when things get confused and muddled in her brain.

So she takes pride in choreographing, because while a lot of people think she's fluke smart when it comes to math (secretly, she kind of agrees with them, at least until Santana lovingly beats those thoughts down), they _know_ she can dance. Her and Mike have been doing more choreographing this past year, when the glee club was split up and after when they merged again, and all of their work this year has been building to this moment of choreographing a winning Nationals performance.

While Mr. Schue focuses on individual vocals and duets and solos, the Troubletones that aren't Santana and Mercedes and Sugar are squirrelled away in their own little corner, still a little uncertain around the New Directions; Brittany doesn't really blame them, because whenever someone says the glee club's name too fast she still giggles like a twelve year old, and she can't imagine that would leave a very good first impression. Honestly, they probably should have looked into renaming the club before it became their brand; she thought forever about the name _Fondue for Two_ before she started posting videos, knowing that it would be near impossible to change it later. To her, _New Directions_ has always seemed like a spur of the moment name that never should have been seriously considered.

The music starts up again and startles Brittany from her musings as she glances down to resume counting out the beats on her timing map. Mike is furiously scribbling like he was just struck with an idea and has to write it down before he explodes, so Brittany just leaves him be. Mr. Schue stops the music again and says something to Puck; they're too far away to make out his words, but the annoyance in his tone easily reaches Brittany's ears. She glances up at Santana, and this time she's using her hand to dramatically mime Mr. Schue talking, her head swinging back and forth like her neck is boneless and limp; Brittany tries to stifle her giggles again, but Mike glances up at her laughter. He follows her gaze to Santana's mocking hand gestures and snorts, a smirk playing at his lips as he turns back to scribbling.

Brittany grins at Mike—she's always thought of him as her bro, because they just kind of get each other without saying much, since both of them express themselves much better through dance than words—and glances back at the stage to imagine how it will look with bodies flowing through it to the music. Her eyes land on the rest of the Troubletones again, and she considers them for a moment, wondering why they're still here. They're already done for the day, since _Edge of Glory_ was rehearsed first, but Mr. Schue forgot to dismiss them after, so now they're just kind of hovering awkwardly by the piano. Brittany frowns a little and points at the Troubletones, waiting until Santana glances over her shoulder and understands what Brittany's getting at.

Santana nods at Brittany and rolls her eyes, gesturing towards Mr. Schue with her slight head roll, before she nudges Mercedes. She leans towards Mercedes and mutters something under her breath while Mr. Schue—who remains oblivious to everything but working on Rachel and Finn's harmonies—restarts the instrumental version of the song.

Brittany's already counted this part out like seven different times, so she only half pays attention to her timing map and instead keeps her eyes on her girlfriend, watching as Mercedes nods before Santana slinks over to the rest of the Troubletones, obviously dismissing them as they all start to pack up and file out of the auditorium. Brittany rolls her eyes at the fact that Mr. Schue remains none the wiser to the eight people who just noisily left the stage.

The song gets all the way to the end of the first section before Mr. Schue turns to Mike and Brittany and calls them down. They more or less have the whole first minute choreographed, up until Kurt and Blaine's first tiny duet, and Mike and Brittany quickly converse with Mr. Schue on what they've added while everyone else takes a water break. They're probably done with vocals for the day, which means they'll be dancing their legs off for the next couple hours.

It's exhausting, but Nationals is only in a couple weeks and time is very quickly slipping away from them.

Mr. Schue adds his own input, and five minutes later the three of them are guiding people into place and demonstrating the choreography. Brittany starts the opening of the song beside Santana, and while Mike shows Finn and Blaine their opening moves, Brittany takes a brief moment to tug Santana into a hug, spinning her into her arms and trying to hush her giggles. They've been so stupid busy lately, what with Nationals and prom and graduation coming up, that they've really only been able to steal small moments with each other. They barely even spent any time together on their date night last Friday because it had basically consisted of them eating pizza before passing out on the couch, quickly sinking into unconsciousness as soon as they were cuddled up in front of a movie and able to relax for the first time all week.

Santana laughs and sinks into Brittany's embrace, letting her girlfriend take her weight for a moment, not even noticing the chorus of _awws_ that arise from Sugar, Tina, and Quinn, who are already in their places and cooing over the couple. Santana tips her head back to kiss the underside of Brittany's chin before Mr. Schue claps and they are forced to separate into their places.

It takes them almost forty-five minutes to get through the first minute, up to when most of them are lined up on the lowest temporary riser, to mimic what the Chicago stage will look like. This is the new part her and Mike choreographed, the part that Brittany's a bit nervous about because she's nervous that Mr. Schue might reject it.

It's the part where her and Santana have their small duet, and the choreography wasn't even her idea, it was Mike's; an idea he quietly outlined for her with a soft smile. She had hugged him as hard as she could because she didn't realize how good it felt to have the unconditional acceptance and support from her friends until this year, where most of them rallied around her and Santana (and as for the ones who didn't, well Santana may have a more forgiving heart than most people realize, but Brittany's always been the one to hold grudges enough for the both of them).

Mr. Schue turns to Brittany for the next choreography, but Mike steps forward to direct them before Brittany can say anything. He guides them through the next part, ordering Santana to step down off the lowest step of temporary riser and walk towards the centre of the line, Brittany mirroring her moves on the other side.

Mr. Schue is humming for them, and Santana sings her part and everything around them fades for a moment; Mike counting beats, Mr. Schue's humming, the other glee kids on the risers spinning in place, the rest of the club chatting on the sides of the stage—it all fades away when she meets Santana's eyes.

" _Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night_."

That night seems like years ago and just yesterday all at once. She can picture it in perfect colour; the flash of streetlights painting Santana's skin in pure gold, a contrast to the greenish-blue dashboard lights reflecting in her dark eyes, Meatloaf's growl against Santana's rasp and her own voice, the pride and awe at how Santana was slowly pushing away her fear, a feeling that had grown in her chest all night, from Santana's lips on her cheek under the fireworks to her offered hand on the console, the feeling like they were the only two people in the entire world.

Her and Santana meet in the middle, their harmony ringing out in the auditorium without any scrutiny from Mr. Schue, and Brittany jolts back into reality, glad her body and voice kept going even while her heart was somewhere in the summer of last year.

Kurt and Blaine step up beside them under Mike's directions, but all Brittany can focus on is the softness to her girlfriend's smile as Santana glances at her, brown eyes glowing with the past and the present and the future, reflecting Brittany's own memories back at her; because Brittany understands things like forever and limits and infinity.

Mike guides them through the crossover and the next couple lines, directing Finn and Mercedes to emerge from the wings and join the two couples, explaining to Mr. Schue the next section they choreographed where the line of glee kids on the risers would break off while the three Troubletones and three New Directions sang in the front.

After running through it a couple more times—and realizing that, no matter how many times they did the choreography, her heart still skipped a beat every time Santana met her eyes across the stage—Mr. Schue gave his seal of approval.

It takes another hour before Brittany and Santana are finally collapsed into her car, sweaty and exhausted and still running high on the adrenaline of the rehearsal. Brittany starts the car and quickly turns her defogger on, their overly hot bodies turning all the glass cloudy. It's dark already, only the harsh school streetlights that flood the entire parking lot as if it was daytime allowing them to see each other. They wave at different glee kids as they drive past them, all on their way home to well earned showers and sleep.

"I can't believe they picked _Paradise By The Dashboard Light_ ," Santana says, "I mean, what are the chances?"

"About as good as them picking any song," Brittany teases.

Santana rolls her eyes and swats at Brittany's arm, Santana's fingers lingering on her skin a little too affectionately for to pull off being truly annoyed by Brittany's response. "You know what I mean." Brittany takes a moment to study Santana, noticing how the seemingly permanent bags under her eyes and constantly furrowed brow have faded into glowing eyes and an ever-present smile threatening her lips.

In a lot of ways, Santana is so different from the Santana of that night; while the Santana who shyly offered her hand in the shadowy safety of the car that night was just starting her journey of finally coming into herself, the Santana sat beside Brittany now is so open and honest and fearless.

Though in a lot of ways, in all the ones that matter, Santana is exactly the same.

"Sometimes I can't even believe I was _that_ nervous to hold your hand," Santana shares with a small eye roll. "Ridiculous."

"Adorable," Brittany immediately corrects.

"You have to say that," Santana complains drolly, her hand sliding absently down Brittany's arm until their fingers tangle, "You're my girlfriend."

"And I have been since before you even knew it," Brittany counters, grinning widely at the instantaneous blush that spreads across Santana's cheeks. No matter how she tries to hide it, Santana still gets a little embarrassed by the fact that it took her _months_ to figure out what Brittany knew all along; Brittany thinks it's basically the cutest thing in the world.

"I can't believe you're still on about that," Santana grumbles, slouching in her seat.

Brittany grins and leans over the centre console so she can guide Santana's lips to hers. "Stop being so adorable and I'll drop it," she mutters.

Santana groans, partially because of how deep and thorough Brittany kisses her, and partially because Brittany is, like, the absolute worst tease and troll ever. "I hate you," she mumbles against Brittany's lips, though the fact that she's kissing Brittany back with everything she has and the fact that she's kind of really super sappy about being in love with Brittany, like, all the time kind of renders her protest moot.

"You love me," Brittany singsongs as she trails her lips down Santana's jaw, "You love me, you love me, you love me _—_ "

"Okay, okay, okay!" Santana relents around her laughter, Brittany's lips purposefully featherlight and ticklish against her skin, "I love you!"

Brittany pulls back a little and bites her lip at the pure happiness on Santana's face, something tugging low in her stomach, like a string pulling her back to Santana. "Tell me again," she husks teasingly.

Santana grins and anchors her free hand on the back of Brittany's neck, tugging her forward so suddenly that Brittany goes sprawling across the console and Santana, her hip somehow miraculously missing the horn.

"I love you," Santana whispers before sealing their lips together.

* * *

May is new life and warm rain, reminding the living that with every stretch of harshness comes a fresh breeze to blow away the dark; it's vibrant memories of a time so long ago and so close all at once, it's the scent of petrichor hanging heavy in the air before heavy clouds pound the countryside with rain, it's old memories blending with new ones in the familiar drumbeat of iconic songs, and it's crossing that familiar stage for the thousandth time with an entirely new meaning, the movement of a tassel and a firm handshake that starts to the next chapter far less important than the quiet moments after, the whisper of lips to cheek in the click of a shutter.

* * *

Santana and Brittany get separated after they all toss their hats in the air; when Santana spotted her mom in the crowd and broke away to meet her, Brittany disappeared with a quick kiss to find her own family. Maribel was crying by the time Santana reached her, so proud that her only child was now graduated that it made Santana's own eyes start watering in response. They'd been on their own for so long—long before Santana's father had physically left them—that it's almost overwhelming to celebrate this milestone, just the two of them, without any of the family who turned their backs on them to ruin this day (if Santana has been ignoring her father's calls this past week because she's been too busy celebrating with her mom and girlfriend and friends, well, she doesn't feel the least bit of guilty about it).

After getting a bunch of pictures with her mom in her cap and gown holding her diploma, she sets out to find Brittany. They already have pictures of the two of them together in their cap and gowns—from before the ceremony started when the grad class walked from town hall up to the school as part of McKinley's grad tradition—but Maribel wants some of her own with the two of them holding their diplomas, and Santana's pretty sure that the Pierces will probably want some too.

So she sets out on a hunt for Brittany, dodging around flashes of red gowns and crowds of cooing families, waving briefly at some of her friends, whether Cheerios or Troubletones or glee kids, as she walks around the auditorium. Brittany's nowhere to be seen, but she catches a glimpse of the rest of the Pierces making their way towards her own mom. She's heading in their direction to ask Whitney and Pierce where Brittany disappeared to, when her phone vibrates in her pocket, and it takes a minute for her to awkwardly dig under her gown to pull her phone out. She quickly reads the message before spinning on her heel and heading off in the opposite direction, using her Cheerios perfected scowl to scare people out of her way. The crowd parts for her like the Red Sea and she smirks a little, tucking that thought away to tell Brittany later.

The hallway is deserted as she steps out of the auditorium, her footsteps echoing against the lockers. It feels really weird to be walking down the empty hall in her cap and gown, like she's somewhere in between, somewhere that exists just outside of her current reality, like some sort of liminal space. She shakes off the feeling as she reaches her destination and slowly cracks the door open.

Brittany's alone in the bathroom, nervously fiddling with her cap, her diploma and phone sitting on the counter beside the sink.

"Hey," Santana says, quietly letting the door swing shut behind her so she doesn't scare her girlfriend too badly.

Brittany glances up as her hands fall away from her cap, a small smile playing on her lips. "Hey," she greets, reaching out for Santana's hands and drawing her closer, only allowing Santana to step away for a moment to deposit her phone and diploma on top of Brittany's. As soon as Santana's back in her arms she ducks down to kiss her, quickly reaching up to catch Santana's cap as her own knocks it off her girlfriend's head. Santana giggles into Brittany's mouth, pulling away so Brittany can place her cap back her head, smiling sheepishly as she then brings her hand down to wipe away the lipstick smeared across Santana's chin.

"What are you doing hidden away in here?" Santana asks, obviously getting right to the heart of the matter when the playful smile on Brittany's face fades away and she glances to the side. "Hey, you," she coos, guiding Brittany's face back towards her, "What's wrong?"

Brittany sighs and nuzzles into Santana's hand, drawing comfort from her girlfriend's warmth. "I got a letter last night. I guess the school or something sent out my SAT scores to MIT and they wanna talk to me about a scholarship or working with them or something? I dunno, it was a lot of big words and official stuff and, like, research-y things."

Santana blinks and tries to process Brittany's words, the future that had been spread out before them suddenly rippling like a stone dropped in water, everything they'd been working towards for the past year—for most of their lives, if she's being honest—shimmering like an illusion that might disappear if she breathes too hard.

"Britt," she manages, "That's—"

"An amazing opportunity?" Brittany interrupts exhaustedly, "Yeah, I know. My mom won't shut up about it."

Santana studies Brittany for a long moment, pushing her own fears to the side as she takes in the slouched posture of her girlfriend, the dullness to her eyes and the tightness to her lips. "But it's not what you want," Santana realizes. She releases Brittany's hands so she can grab Brittany's waist and draw them even closer together, both finding comfort in the solid press of their bodies against each other.

Brittany sighs and sinks into Santana's embrace. "It's a really good opportunity and it's a full ride scholarship and they'd pay me for the research and it'd be good experience and they said that they want—"

Santana interrupts Brittany with a soft kiss, letting Brittany's words die against her lips. "But it's not what you want," she repeats, "Right?"

"Not really," Brittany admits with a grateful exhale, her eyes bright with relief. "I understand math, but I don't like it."

"And you don't want to spend four years doing something you don't like." Santana scratches comfortingly at Brittany's back, her soothing touch relaxing the tension from Brittany's body.

"Away from you," Brittany adds, and at the confusion on Santana's face she finally cracks a small smile. "I don't want to spend four years of my life doing something that I don't really like _away from you_."

Santana melts a little and kisses Brittany's chin before bouncing up on her toes to locate her girlfriend's mouth. "If it was what you really wanted to do, we'd get figure it out," she reassures her, "We'd make it work and get through it."

"But it's not," Brittany corrects, her smile turning goofy and dreamy, "Living in New York with you is kind of all I've wanted to do since you suggested it when we were like nine."

"It's 'cause we got really into _Elf_ that summer," Santana remembers with a grin, "We must have watched it like once a day. It drove my mom nuts."

"Oh, my mom _lost_ the DVD," Brittany says sarcastically, "I found it broken and buried at the bottom of the garbage."

"I totally forgot about that," Santana laughs, "You were devastated and ran away to my house crying the entire way. I thought something terrible had happened because you were so inconsolable."

"My mom was desperately calling all our neighbours trying to find me. She really should have known to call your house first."

"She really should have," Santana agrees, managing to keep a completely serious face for a moment before they both crack into giggles against each other. They sober a moment later as Santana's face falls into soft worry. "You sure you don't wanna go to MIT?"

Brittany smiles confidently, feeling certain for the first time since she opened that letter yesterday night. "Positive. You are my dream," she promises, and warmth curls in Santana's chest, making her feel like just about the best thing ever, "not some acting job. Plus they're Brits too, so it would just confuse me a lot."

"MIT is a school in Massachusetts, Britt," Santana says with a grin, having long learned to recognize the amused sparkle in those blue eyes.

"Wait, you mean _MIT_ isn't a British crime show?" Brittany gasps. "I thought it was like the European version of _CSI_."

"Ridiculous," Santana giggles as she kisses her girlfriend; Brittany just smiles against Santana's mouth. "C'mon, let's get back to everyone. My mom wants pictures of us."

Brittany makes no move to step out of Santana's embrace, instead she just tightens her arms around her girlfriend. "Didn't you send her the ones we took earlier?"

Santana rolls her eyes, the tassel of her cap swinging into her line of vision from the motion of her head. "I did, but she said she wants ones of us holding our diplomas too."

Brittany grins and ducks forward to quickly kiss Santana before stepping up to the sink, passing her girlfriend's phone and diploma to her before retrieving her own. "Okay, but first, one of us," she says, holding her phone up with a smile. Santana grins and steps under Brittany's arm, nuzzling as close to Brittany as she can get with their gowns and diplomas in the way. Their caps force them to awkwardly weave their heads around each other before they can both fit into the frame. "Ready?" Brittany giggles. As soon as Santana nods, Brittany lunges forward to kiss her cheek, their caps knocking together as Santana bursts into laughter at the motion.

The picture ends up just a little unfocused, with Brittany's cap is lopsided and almost completely out of frame, but it catches the surprised delight on Santana's face, her dark eyes wide and smiling as her nose scrunches up with her laughter. Brittany's nose is squished against Santana's cheek, and she's beaming so much that it's less a kiss and more just her pressing a smile to Santana's skin, but there's a type of love radiating from her that can't be replicated in any of the purposefully posed selfies they take afterwards.

It's Santana's favourite picture of them from all of prom and grad combined, because it somehow manages to capture the way that being with Brittany feels; adoring and carefree and laughing and so in love.

* * *

May comes and goes in the quiet moments, with old memories melting into new beginnings, with the days growing longer and the nights growing shorter, with the sun starting to darken skin and lighten hair and freckle blushing cheeks, with simple kisses that mean everything and long kisses that mean simple things, and with the knowledge that facing the world that's out there waiting is much less daunting when there's already a hand to hold on to, knowing it will be there for infinity and infinity and infinity.

* * *

"We really should get up," Brittany says.

"Ngh," Santana huffs.

Brittany laughs and runs her hand soothingly down Santana's back, causing her to stretch and nuzzle closer to Brittany the way Lord Tubbington used to when he was a kitten. " _Ngh_?" she asks, "What does _ngh_ mean?"

Santana sleepily pats at Brittany's stomach, burying her face completely in Brittany's neck. "It means five more minutes," she finally mumbles.

"Come on," Brittany goads teasingly, "The sooner we finish packing the sooner we can actually go to bed."

"Ugh," Santana whines, "Why do you have to always be right?"

"Because I'm a genius," Brittany says without missing a beat. Santana mutters something that's lost to the soft skin of Brittany's neck before she reluctantly peels herself off her girlfriend, propping herself up on an elbow and glowering at Brittany, who just grins and tucks some of Santana's staticky hair behind her ear. "What?"

"I _said_ ," Santana grumbles dramatically, "That you're insufferable."

Brittany lunges at Santana and drags her back down to her chest, wrapping her in a crushing hug and giggling as Santana shrieks and tries to squirm away. "You love me," she singsongs over Santana's loud complaining.

Santana finally goes limp, unable to hide the way her body melts into Brittany's even when she's trying to be stubborn. "I guess," she mutters.

"You do," Brittany teases.

"Ugh. Fine." Brittany loosens her hold on her girlfriend, and the faux-irritated look on Santana's face instantly softens into adoration as she meets Brittany's eyes. "I love you, Britt," she whispers.

Brittany sighs as she guides Santana's lips to hers, kissing her languidly like they have all the time in the world. Santana is soft and warm above her, and her mouth is even softer and warmer, and Brittany's pretty sure that this is basically heaven. She literally can't wait until they're in New York together, because waking up to this everyday instead of just whenever their parents allow them to have a sleepover (which have become far and few between ever since last November, much to their pouting complaints and their parents' continuing stubbornness) sounds like the best thing in the world.

After long minutes of getting lost in each other, they reluctantly disentangle and push themselves up off the bed. The only thing left to pack up is Santana's closet. They aren't moving to New York for months yet, but with her only child leaving home, Maribel had decided to downsize. The Lopez house isn't currently all that big to begin with—not like it was when Julio Lopez's doctor's salary paid the mortgage—but for one person it seems massive. So Maribel found a small townhouse only a couple blocks from the hospital where she works, and quickly put a down payment on it and gave her notice to her current landlord. Which means the Lopez women are moving by the end of this month, and since Santana will be moving soon after, they figured it would be easier to just pack up stuff needed for university, stuff needed for the months until she moves to New York, and stuff she'll leave at her mom's for the time being.

It feels weird to be in Santana's room with the walls bare and the mess usually covering the floor packed away, only a couple stacks of boxes indicating that a teenager had once lived in the room for almost six years. Even her dressers are empty, and all the clothes once hanging up in her closet are already folded and packed away, leaving whatever knickknacks have been thrown carelessly into Santana's closet over the years the only sign that the space had ever been lived in.

The window is open and carries the smell of rain and dirt and growing things on a cool breeze, a far cry from the smell of manure as the farmers started fertilizing their fields last week. It makes the air feel fresh and new, especially in the usually cool dampness that hangs in the basement air of Santana's room, with the sun just barely managing to shine through the clouds and down into the basement window, highlighting clouds of dust disturbed from their six year rest.

"Oh my god," Santana suddenly laughs from the closet, startling Brittany into action, not realizing that she got lost in her thoughts while Santana started packing already, "Britt! You've gotta see this!"

Brittany grins as she heads for the closet, already excited for whatever's making Santana's voice raspy with amusement. Santana's closet is a tiny walk-in, and she finds Santana on the floor with papers and pictures spread out around her. She shoves some things to the side to make a spot for Brittany as she tiptoes over everything and plops down beside her girlfriend, as carelessly graceful in her movements as she always is.

"Look at this," Santana says, shoving something at Brittany even before she's settled.

Brittany chuckles at her girlfriend's enthusiasm and takes the red construction paper from Santana, grinning as soon as she recognizes it; it's a little frayed at the edges, having been held so often the paper's softened, but the shakily drawn heart is untouched. Two messily drawn stick figure girls hold hands inside the heart, and below the drawing there's nearly indecipherable writing that Brittany doesn't even have to glance at to remember that it says _Lov B_.

"You still have this?" she asks quietly, turning to give Santana an adoring look, feeling like she might melt right through the floor from the sweetness of it all.

"Of course, Britt-Britt," Santana says, sweet and bashful and confident all at once, "It's the first Valentine you ever gave me, and the first one I'd ever gotten. How could I get rid of it?"

Brittany shakes her head a little, unable to believe she's lucky enough to call probably the awesomest and cutest and snarkiest and sweetest girl in the entire world hers. She quickly ducks forward to kiss Santana long and deep and adoring, something in her chest that might be her soul trembling with all the love she holds for the girl that holds her heart.

Santana is breathless and awed when she pulls back, a dreamy smile spread across her face that screams _I've just been kissed senseless_. "If that's the reaction I get for that, wait until you see all the birthday cards I've kept too," she says, both sweet and teasing all at once.

Brittany preemptively kisses Santana for all of those cards, and by the time they break apart, Brittany has to stand up and turn on the closet light because the sun is now more below the horizon than above it.

They start sorting through all the papers and pictures around them, tossing old school assignments into a discard pile and all the cards and drawings from Brittany—and ones from the munchkin too—into a keep pile. The loose pictures they find get piles of their own, so Santana can add them to one of her baby albums if she's young enough in them, or so she can put them in one of her keepsake boxes her _abuela_ had gotten her when she was too young to really care about keepsakes.

In the pictures being added to her baby albums, Santana is mostly alone and hamming it up for the camera, something that Brittany lovingly teases her about; a lot of them feature Santana and her _abuela_ —the only grandparent she's ever really had because her _abuelo_ died when she was too young to remember him, and because her mom's parents died before she was born. Santana grows quiet as she studies them, staring at the smile lines deep set in her _abuela_ 's face and trying to match them to the woman who disowned her; she finds she can't do it. The _abuela_ who practically raised her while her parents worked crazy hours and the woman who left her crying at that kitchen table seem like two completely different people, the two versions of the same face completely irreconcilable in her mind.

Trying to meld them together does nothing but make her heart ache.

"You miss her," Brittany says quietly, pressing forward to mould her back to Santana's, dropping a lingering kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin on the same spot.

"More than anything," Santana whispers. "Not the— I miss who she was before— Like when I was young. I miss the _abuela_ in my memories." _I miss the woman who loved me_ , she doesn't say, but Brittany hears it anyways.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says and kisses the hinge of Santana's jaw, knowing that sometimes people just need to know that you're there because somethings can't be fixed by flowery words and promises; not everything that needs to be fixed can be.

Santana swallows and stares at the pictures in her hands for a long moment, before putting them in the pile with the keepsakes. (Some of the pictures of Santana and her father end up in the discard pile, and neither of them made any comments about it, because what more is there to say about the man that he himself hasn't already said in his absence and resistance to the woman his daughter was becoming?)

Brittany grabs the next photo, giving Santana another moment to process her pain for two people who hadn't died, but who might as well have from the amount of pain and grief they left scarred on her heart. Brittany smiles a little as she studies the picture; it's of the glee club from sophomore year, all huddled around their Sectionals trophy, and she marvels a little at how young they all look.

After a couple moments, Santana leans back into her to see the photo, falling back into the lighter mood that was in the air before looking through the pictures of her _abuela_. "Oh my god is that from Sectionals sophomore year?" Santana laughs, "We were such a hot mess back then." She pauses for a moment before amending her statement, "I mean we still are." Brittany giggles and tips the photo towards Santana so she can see better. "That was when Finn found out he was _not_ the baby daddy," Santana booms in her most _Maury_ voice. Brittany's laughter is muffled against Santana's hair as she tries to hold the picture steady. "Mr. Schue wasn't even there for the performance. Plus that was the whole setlist kerfuffle—"

" _Kerfuffle_?" Brittany interrupts with a snort.

"Yeah, kerfuffle, you got a problem with that?" Santana asks in her Lima Heights voice. "I'll take you down."

Brittany laughs and tugs Santana back into her lap, wrapping herself around her girlfriend even tighter so she can't escape. "My little badass," she coos in Santana's ear.

Santana tries to swat at Brittany but can't twist in her embrace enough to manage it, so she just grumbles and sinks back into Brittany's body. "That was also the week of the infamous party line," she grins.

"Oh god," Brittany groans, "That was so dumb. I can't believe I just let it slip like that—"

Santana tips her head back to kiss Brittany, her lips landing more on Brittany's chin than her mouth. "We were both holding so many secrets that something was bound to give," Santana soothes easily. "I forgave you for that forever ago."

"Really?" Brittany asks, kissing the side of Santana's neck.

"Yeah, like an hour later," Santana laughs as Brittany's nose trails up the sensitive skin and makes her squirm away from the ticklish feeling. "I've always been really really bad at being mad at you."

Brittany's kisses turn into a smile against her neck as they turn their gazes back to the picture. "God what is Mercedes wearing?" Brittany giggles.

Santana squirms in her lap and stretches her arm towards the closet door. "Quick, pass me my phone, I gotta send her a picture of that atrocity."

Brittany grins and uses her extra arm length to snag Santana's phone from the floor, passing to her girlfriend and holding the photo steady so Santana can snap the picture and send it to Mercedes. Brittany reads Santana's message over her shoulder and snorts as she hits send before tossing her phone on the floor. Brittany giggles as her eyes land on the other hilarious thing about the photo. "You know, Mercedes' outfit may be an atrocity, but at least she's not holding hands with Rachel."

"What?" Santana cries, "No way!"

"Way," Brittany snorts, pointing to the offending appendage. "Should I be worried?"

Santana chokes on her laugh and shakes her head. "Not a chance in hell. It was cause we were all excited."

"She has her arm around you too," Brittany adds idly.

"Oh shut it, you." Santana takes the photo from Brittany and tosses it in the direction of her phone before turning around to straddle Brittany and prove exactly why Brittany doesn't have to worry about Rachel Berry of all people.

Brittany's breathless and laughing as she pulls away, trying to calm her pounding heart. "Okay, okay, I get it. No need to worry about Berry."

"Good," Santana says smugly, despite the fact that she's just as breathless as Brittany, turning and sitting beside Brittany to resume sorting through papers and pictures. Her hand runs soothingly along Brittany's thigh, and Brittany smiles a little as Santana's touch starts to rub feeling back into the limb. As much as she loves to make out with Santana, sitting on the floor in her cramped closet does nothing to keep blood flowing in her legs when she has a lapful of her girlfriend.

Santana tosses a bunch of assignments, along with a bunch of flyers and school newspapers she has for some reason, into the discard pile, adding some pictures to the keepsake pile and some to the baby album pile. Brittany mostly just looks over Santana's shoulder and makes a running snarky commentary of everything.

The next picture that Santana grabs is of Brittany and Santana when they were about six, holding two cones of melting ice cream, their fingers sticky and Brittany's cheeks and chin bright blue from her bright blue bubblegum flavoured ice cream. Santana grins and sinks back into her girlfriend, holding the picture up for Brittany to see better. They both have pigtails, because as soon as Santana saw that Brittany's dad had done them, she demanded that he to do her hair too so they could match. Their heads are pressed together for the picture, Santana's ice cream cone threatening to drip onto Brittany's thigh, both of them beaming goofily at the camera. Santana's nose is scrunched up under her children's sunglasses and Brittany is squinting into the sun, a strip across her cheeks and nose bright red from where she missed rubbing sunscreen into her freckled skin.

"We're cute," Brittany says with a grin.

Santana hums in agreement, studying the carefree happiness in their laughing faces. It had taken them a long time to get back to that kind of easy kind of joy that kids always have, through a lot of pain that made it feel like they would never break free of the shadows, but eventually they did, and they're both stronger than ever because of it, both individually and together.

"We should get this blown up and framed," Santana suggests.

"Oh yeah?" Brittany asks, nuzzling closer to Santana and wrapping her free arm around her waist, scratching softly at the warm skin of Santana's stomach where her shirt has ridden up.

"Yeah," Santana says, a small smile playing at her lips as she tips her head back to meet Brittany's gaze, her eyes glowing and loving. "We could hang it up beside that picture from grad or something." It was both of their lockscreens at the moment so Brittany sees it multiple times a day, but the idea of hanging it on a wall of their _own_ place beside a picture form when they were kids—long before they could have ever known how much would change, long before they could have ever known how much would stay the exact same—makes something bright and warm spread through her chest, like the first sip of a hot drink after being outside in the snow all day.

"That sounds awesome," Brittany whispers.

"Yeah?" Santana says, her smile slowly growing.

"The awesomest," Brittany promises right before she kisses Santana.

* * *

Spring comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the melting snow freezing mud to the ground until the pale sun warms the earth and reveals all the footsteps of those who came before, with chirping songbirds drawing consciousness forth long before blaring alarms disturb tangled bodies, with clouds carrying warm rain descends on the earth in sunshine showers, with kisses that taste of sunlight and new beginnings and melting snow, with all the years that led to these moments and all the moments that will lead to the next ones, looking to the future with souls tangled so close they're impossible to separate, if they were ever even separate to begin with.

It's at the end of spring that Brittany kisses Santana.

* * *

 _"You are my favourite._

 _Close your eyes, and hear the smile in my voice._

 _As if the lone cello of your presence is filling the empty theatre of my body,_

 _Evicting the hollowness that once played in me like a Phantom with no obsession to make him whole._

 _Thank you._

 _You, are my favourite."_

* * *

Spring comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's songbirds in the rain and steadily glowing love among new growth, carefree laughter that reminds them how their tangled roots lead them to these tangling branches.

* * *

It's at the end of spring that Brittany kisses Santana.

* * *

May comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's new life and warm rain, innately knowing that there's always a hand to hold no matter how far life's road winds away from the past.

* * *

April comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's colours blooming and songbirds chirping, the remembrance that a crown nestled against soft hair will never be half as important as waking up to _good morning_ kisses every day.

* * *

March comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It's snow covered grass and the warming sun, the shining hope of fingers tangled against fingers that is needed to somehow face the cruel darkness until the sun rises again.

* * *

Spring is old memories hidden among sprouting flowers and old scars painted with soft green and blooming colour and love and love and love.

It's kisses that taste of those that came before and all those that will come after, where souls shake and tremble as they melt into its mate, the mirrored image reflecting kids too young to know the kind of love they would find in the other, fading into the knowledge that it was there all along.

* * *

It's at the start of spring that Santana kisses Brittany.

* * *

 _"You are my favourite._

 _It doesn't sound like much,_

 _To be put before photos of blob fish and videos of kittens discovering cactuses._

 _But I put you before hand holding,_

 _I put you before kisses._

 _Before 'I like you' turned into 'I love you,'_

 _Before the moment I knew you loved me too._

 _You are before everything in the long line of everything that brings me joy._

 _You are first, you are water to my thirst._

 _You are my favourite._

 _Please, sit in my sky, and let me polish your shine."_

* * *

 _Spring Equinox lands on the first day of spring, or so Brittany tells her. Santana thinks that spring starts as soon as the snow melts, but Brittany says it has to do with the temperature and the stars and George's calendar or something, Santana wasn't really paying attention._

 _Not that she's been actively ignoring Brittany or anything—Brittany's her best friend and basically the most interesting and funniest person in the entire world—but she's just found Brittany really, really distracting lately. Like her eyes sparkle all different shades of blue and Santana kind of wants to count how many colours are hidden in there, and her hair somehow captures the pale spring sunlight and seems to glow with it, and her freckles are starting to reemerge after a long winter hiatus, and her lips always look so soft that Santana now has to constantly fight the urge to reach out and touch them._

 _But it's, like, so not a crush. Because she can't have a crush on Brittany because Brittany's_ Brittany _, or, at least that's what she tries to remind herself when she finds herself daydreaming in class. Seventh grade isn't hard or anything, and she's turning thirteen in the fall and her mom is thinking about letting her get her second ear piercings, so she's basically already too cool to pay attention to stuff like ecosystems and Alexander the Great and probability._

 _Brittany already has her second piercings, which is about ninety percent of the reason Santana wants them. They really suite her, and not just because her last name's Pierce like Brittany joked when she first got them. They make Brittany look a lot more mature, but she's still Santana's goofy and snarky best friend who would rather ride her bike to Santana's house and watch cartoons than hang out with the boys who always comment on her piercings, which makes something Santana can't identify warm and flutter in her chest. She thought it might be a heart attack at first, but Brittany said she gets the same feeling sometimes and figures it's just from loving something too much._

 _Santana loves Brittany more than anything in the entire world because she's her best friend, but there are times that she starts to wonder, when the sun is coming up and songbirds are chirping outside her window, whether all best friends are supposed to make her feel like her insides are going to fly away if she gets too close to them._

 _Brittany's the only best friend she's ever had, but it feels like something she can't ask her about; and even if she could, she's the only best friend Brittany's ever had so she would probably be as confused about it as Santana._

 _But it doesn't stop her from smiling until her cheeks hurt whenever Brittany shows up at her house, her bike flopped carelessly in the Lopez front yard, and asks her to go hang out at the park; both of them usually end up begging her mom to let them go, and she always does with a small smile and shake of her head. If it's Santana's dad that's home, which more often than not he isn't—Santana worries it has something to do with the papers she saw her mom leaving on the desk in his study, but tries to ignore that thought—they usually just quietly sneak out and hope Santana's mom isn't too upset when they come back for supper. Santana's dad doesn't really like Brittany all that much, which makes no sense to Santana because Brittany is the best person in the whole world; especially because Santana's mom adores Brittany and always invites her to stay for supper or sleepover if she wants._

 _It's one of those latter times when Brittany comes and begs Santana to go to the park with her on the Spring Equinox—something to do with how magical the day is because it's as long as the night or something, Santana got a little distracted by watching Brittany's mouth form the words of her sentence and only nodded absently in response. Since Santana's mom is at work and her dad is at home, which is super weird because it's like the middle of the day and he's usually never home before eight in the evening, she quickly slips her sneakers on and quietly closes the door behind her._

 _Despite the sun, there's a chill to the air and she immediately shivers as she steps out onto the porch beside Brittany._

 _Brittany grins jogs back over to her bike, reaching into the basket on the front and producing Santana with an extra sweater. "My Lady," she drawls dramatically, bowing as she offers Santana the garment._

 _Something hot and prickling floods Santana's cheeks even as she rolls her eyes and shrugs the sweater on. "You're such a goof, Britt-Britt," she teases._

 _Brittany beams and straightens her bike, slipping her helmet off and stowing it in the basket as they walk down the Lopez front walkway. Since they don't want Santana's dad to know they're hanging out, they can't get Santana's bike out of the garage; they're used to it though, and Santana walks on the grass lining the sidewalk so Brittany can wheel her bike beside her on the cement._

 _They talk about nothing important as they head for the park a couple blocks away from Santana's house, discussing their newest group project and how much they're kind of glad Mercedes is in their group because she's good at stuff like planning and organizing, even if they would never ever tell her that._

 _Their favourite oak tree is free of families and kid, so they drop Brittany's bike beside it and curl together against the trunk, keeping each other warm in the cool shadows. They're too cool to play on the playground now, even if both of them still kind of miss it sometimes. Instead, they start up a game of Truth or Dare, going from the ridiculous to the mundane as they giggle in their own corner of the park, halfway hidden from the rest of the families and children lounging around the green space._

 _"I dare you to do a handstand," Brittany says with a small smile, knowing how awful Santana is at them. She can cartwheel and tumble almost as well as Brittany, but for some reason her body could never master handstands._

" _That's a boring dare," Santana says, trying to goad Brittany into something that won't end with her landing on her head._

 _"Fine," Britany pouts. She tips her head to the side, closing one eye in concentration, and glances around the park for inspiration. Her gaze lands on two high schoolers across the green space with their faces smushed together, and her eyes brighten (if there's butterflies in her stomach, well, only Brittany needs to know about them)._

 _"Kiss me."_

 _Santana's mouth drops and her eyes go so wide it almost looks like they might fall out. It causes Brittany more than a little concern and she leans forward a little, their knee brushing where they're sitting cross-legged. "I— Uh— What?" Santana stutters._

 _Brittany is still concerned for Santana's eyes but gives a half shrug. "I dare you to kiss me," she elaborates. "You said doing handstand was a boring dare, so I dare you to kiss me. Bam, not boring."_

 _Santana studies Brittany for a long moment, searching for something without having any clue what it is. After a long moment of her body frozen in place and Brittany fidgeting beside her, Santana manages to get her mouth open, but what comes out is a croaking_ Okay _instead of a deflection like she intended._

 _"Okay?" Brittany asks in surprise._

 _Santana shrugs as her eyes drift down to watch Brittany's lips curl and twist into words, wondering how they would feel against her own and feeling her cheeks burn hotly at the thought. "Sorry what?" Santana startles when a hand lands on her knee._

 _"I said," Brittany mumbles, "I'd rather you be my first kiss than some dumb boy anyways."_

 _Santana blinks, and then blinks again, her mind shutting down instead of processing Brittany's words. "I— You— You haven't kissed anybody?"_

 _Brittany shakes her head. "Why, have you?"_

 _"No," Santana mumbles, "It's just— I thought you had because you're so prett—" Her face burns like she sat too close to a campfire while roasting marshmallows. "Never mind."_

 _"Okay, so, the dare," Brittany says slowly, chewing on her bottom lip so harshly that Santana wants to reach out and soothe the flesh with her thumb._

 _"Uh-huh," Santana nods breathlessly as they turn towards each other, both of their knees pressing together. The remain mostly hidden by the shadow's of the oak tree, all the other park-goers so far away that their features are obscured into a blur of colour._

 _"We just gotta—" Brittany motions vaguely towards Santana but doesn't finish her thought._

 _"If we—"_

 _Brittany surges forward so quickly it startles Santana a little, and she gasps into Brittany's mouth, their lips sliding together clumsily as they fumble to fit their noses against each other. Brittany's lips are somehow even softer than Santana had imagined, her mouth languid and eager and warm. That warm, fluttering thing that always takes up residence in Santana's chest when Brittany is around bursts into flight, and it feels a little bit like her heart might just pound out of her chest into Brittany's lap. Brittany tastes a little bit like a blue raspberry freezy—her favourite thing to eat before going to the park—but somehow warmer and sweeter. Whenever Santana sighs out, Brittany breathes in, and it feels like she's melting into her._

 _Brittany's nose brushes against hers as she pulls away. Santana's hands have tangled together in her lap somewhere during the kiss, and Brittany's eyes are wide and awed as they meet Santana's, causing something deep in Santana's chest to tremble violently._

 _Santana swallows thickly, before a tiny smile stretches across her face. "I thought I was supposed to kiss you," she says, a little surprised by how raspy her voice sounds._

 _Brittany giggles and shrugs a little. "I got impatient, plus it was my dare so I make the rules."_

 _Santana sticks her tongue out at Brittany and shrieks with laughter with Brittany lunges forward and tackles her to the ground. She's only a little disappointed when Brittany doesn't kiss her again, but that thought is swept away as she squeals and tries to squirm away from Brittany's tickling hands._

 _"Stop!" she gasps around a laugh, "I take it back! I won't do it again!"_

 _Brittany's giggling almost as hard as she is, doubled over with laughter until she collapses on the ground beside Santana, her hand still digging into Santana's ribs until she manages to pin Brittany's wandering hand to the ground._

 _They're breathless and bright, still trying to control their giggles as they lay under the old oak tree, Brittany propped up on her elbow and Santana on her back, reaching up to try and smooth staticky golden hair back into place._

 _"You're my best friend, you know that right?" Santana asks softly._

 _Brittany's smile scrunches her eyes more than spreads across her lips, the blue glowing and bright. "Yeah, you're my best friend too. For, like, forever and ever."_

 _Santana's smile turns a little shy, her eyes dark and her cheeks hot, breathless and bright. She releases Brittany's pinned hand only to hold up her own, fingers all curled into her palm except for one. "Pinky promise?" she asks nervously._

 _Brittany's smile softens even more and doesn't hesitate to wrap her pinky around Santana's. "Pinky promise," she whispers. The shadows of the oak tree make it seem like they're the only two people in the whole world, the shouting and laughter from the park fading away in their own little bright bubble. Brittany's stomach is all jittery and fluttery, like she just did a bunch of cartwheels in a row, like someone spun her too fast on the tire-swing, like she can still feel Santana's lips against her own, like she's only grounded to the earth by Santana's bright eyes on hers and their pinkies intertwined and Santana's heart curled around her own._

 _Because Brittany understands things like limits and forever and infinity, and infinity, and infinity—_

* * *

It's on the first day of spring that Brittany dares Santana to kiss her for the first time.

It's on the first day of spring that Santana kisses Brittany for the first time.

* * *

It's at the end of spring that they both kiss their future; not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

* * *

 **End Notes:** And proceed to s5's Brittanacedes mall tour in about 2-3 years.

This series is what started me writing again after some rough personal things and it's so bittersweet to see it come to an end, but I'm also really excited to move onto other fics. I was re-reading the first parts of this series as I was writing this final part, and it's insane to really see how far my writing has come since then, so here's to the end of over a year of my writing and to the start of new projects!


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